Seven Year Jock Itch
by Anubis Soundwave
Summary: A seven-part Danny Phantom ghost story.
1. Stairway to heaven

**Seven-Year Jock Itch**

byline: _Anubis C. Soundwave_

1. _Stairway to heaven_.

"Kwan!" orders Star. "Mop that up!"

"Come on, Star," groans Kwan. "It's just a beer."

"How'd you even-never mind!" spits Star, snatching the six-pack from Kwan and dumping it down the drain. "My parents will kill me if they find booze at this party. They're trusting me!"

"Okay...I'm sorry," says Kwan.

Another student pokes his head into the kitchen. "Star: get Number Fourteen into the closet," he grins.

"Fourteen?" asks Star.

"She won 'Seven Minutes' with Number Seven," says the student.

"I can't believe we're still playing 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'," says Star, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I never thought we had so many hot girls at Casper High," says the student. "Told you inviting out of clique was a good idea."

"I guess. Some of the geeks we invited are actually kind of cool in their own way," says Star, shrugging. "Still wouldn't hang around them on a day-to-day basis, though."

"I wonder if Paulina is still mad with us," wonders Kwan.

Star snorts. "We couldn't invite Fenton because Dash would be an idiot about it," she says, "and since we excluded the top-tier geek of our school, then to keep things even, we had to exclude our top-tier A-lister."

"It's simple math," adds the student.

"You could have excluded yourself," says Kwan.

"I'm not being shut out of my own party at my own house, especially since I _have_ to include my stupid cousin!" balks Star. "Let me get Number Fourteen," she continues as she flounces out of the kitchen. 

* * *

Star hands Number Fourteen a small pastel green gift sack.

"What's this?" asks Fourteen.

"Party favors for playing the game," says Star.

Fourteen studies the contents: a stick of lip gloss, a pack of chewing gum, and a small square package with the word _SPARTAN_ printed on it. She raises a thick, dark eyebrow at the third item as her eyes widen.

"That's in case you and your partner want to spend longer than seven minutes together," explains Star.

"But..." begins Fourteen, who blushes and then scowls.

"Look, I'm sure _you'll_ probably never use it," says Star. "I'm just helping everyone be careful."

"I'll figure it out if anything happens," says Fourteen, "but I'm still leery of this invite."

"Call it an 'adopt-a-geek' program if you want," snorts Star. "You didn't have to come."

"Hanging around you was the lesser of two evils on my plate today," grins Fourteen wryly. "You don't know my parents." 

* * *

"If you're lucky-and with your number, you've got to be," says Timothy Turner, Star's socially-inept cousin in band, to Number Seven.

"Seriously, Timmy," groans Seven. "Just shut up about my number before I remember that you're a band geek and I should be pounding your face into hamburger."

"Take it easy," winces Timothy. "My cousin's a cheerleader you're friends with."

"That's the only reason you're not dead yet, twerp," says Seven. "Now tell me the damn rules."

"All I was saying is that if you need more than seven minutes with Number Fourteen," says Timothy, opening the closet, "then there's a stairway to heaven." He reveals a hidden set of stairs beneath a trap door.

"Those stairs just lead to your bedroom in the basement, Timmy," snorts Seven.

"That's the beauty of it," grins Timothy. "If Star's parents come home and they open the closet, the worst they'll see is a couple of kids making out in here. Star won't get in trouble, and you and Fourteen can play undisturbed."

"If I step on one of your toy robot parts while I'm barefoot-*" warns Seven.

"My scale _**Guncannon Zeed**_ model kits have been put away, safe from your heavy feet," says Timothy, perturbed.

"I really just hope we don't run into your life-sized anime doll if we end up down there," Seven scoffs.

Timothy blushes, pouting. "Star took 'Megumi' upstairs to her room," he says, wounded.

"Then get back to the party," says Seven. "You still have a once-in-a-lifetime chance to kiss a _real_ girl tonight." He enters the closet.

Timothy fumes. "Why did Star even invite that jerk?" he mutters as he exits the hallway to join the party. "He's almost as bad as my old babysitter." 

* * *

Number Seven and Number Fourteen sit together in the closet.

"So," asks Fourteen, "do we have to kiss, or can we just discuss the school election or..." Her words trail off.

Seven strokes Fourteen's face gently. "Soft skin," he says, leaning in to smell Fourteen's hair and neck.

Fourteen stiffens a moment, then relaxes after smelling a mix of athletic male sweat and cologne. "You overdid the _Old Spice_ a bit, champ," she says, feeling goosebumps.

"And you smell like a _York Peppermint Pattie_," counters Seven. He touches Fourteen's chin a moment, then kisses her.

Fourteen returns the kiss, finding that Seven's mouth feels and tastes vaguely familiar.

Seven pulls Fourteen closer, deepening the kiss as his hands roam beneath her shirt. "Am I bad," he whispers as he touches Fourteen's breasts, "for telling you that I like your tits?"

"You're no worse," hisses Fourteen huskily, kissing Seven's neck, "than any other sweaty, cisgendered male."

"I don't know what that means," moans Seven as he grinds his hips into Fourteen's, "but you sound hot when you say it."

Fourteen, feeling a warm rush of delight build inside her, responds to Seven, cooing with pleasure. She and Seven resume kissing, their hands roaming over each other as they start removing each other's shirts.

Several minutes pass as the pair of teenagers continue making out.

Seven removes his mouth from one of Fourteen's breasts. "So...creamy-tasting," he sighs, lazily lapping at the nipple. Seven starts to move his hands down to remove Fourteen's panties, but he abruptly draws back.

Fourteen pants in a combination of relief and shock. "Not that...I'm complaining...about your restraint," she says, "but why...?"

"Just come with me downstairs," whispers Seven as he licks Fourteen's ear, "and I'll show you." He opens the trap door inside the closet leading to the basement.

"We...only have about a minute," says Fourteen.

"We need more than seven minutes," smiles Seven, taking Fourteen's hand in his. He leads her down into the basement. 

* * *

Fourteen, drowsy, lies naked with Seven in a full size bed.

Seven starts to open his mouth, but Fourteen touches Seven's lips with her fingers.

"Not yet," she whispers. "I'm trying to figure something out."

Seven chuckles. "I was just going to ask what you thought about the _SPARTAN_ party favor," he says, grinning. "I don't think it was so hard."

Fourteen clamps her hands over her mouth, stifling a giggle as she struggles to keep in a bad pun.

Seven, realizing Fourteen's struggle, laughs. "Don't feel bad; I would have made that joke, too," he says.

"I don't know why my parents warned me to use those whenever...the mood strikes," says Fourteen, "but didn't bother to show me how to apply them."

"You're a girl," says Seven. "If your dad is anything like my friend's dad, he didn't want you getting into it until you turned forty."

"No," says Fourteen, "my dad was pretty open about things for the most part. He just drew a blank at the 'raincoat' phase."

"...with all due respect, ma'am," says Star, her voice a faint echo trailing down into the basement bedroom, "the Lollipop Guild convention is not at my house!"

"Young lady," a man's voice responds, "we came here to pick up our daughter Samantha."

Fourteen's eyes widen as she sits up in the bed.

"Sammy-kins," cries a woman's voice. "Where are you, honey?"

"It's them all right," mutters Fourteen. "My cover is thoroughly blown."

"Those your parents, 'Samantha'?" asks Seven.

"Yeah," says Fourteen. "If you ever call me that again, though," she continues, "I will choke you to death with your jock strap."

Seven's eyes widen with glee; he suddenly pulls Fourteen down to him and kisses her deeply. "I've always...wanted to be with you..." he says as he breaks the kiss.

Breathless, Fourteen stares at Seven a moment, the teenage boy's blond hair, dark blue eyes, and bulky brown eyebrows reminding her of someone familiar...

"No guesses yet?" asks Seven, smirking.

"I have my suspicions," says Fourteen warily, as Seven's smirk made the boy's face look even more familiar, "but I don't have time to air them now. My parents won't leave this place without me," she adds as she slips on her bra and panties.

Seven admires Fourteen's slim body as the pale-skinned brunette puts on a white spaghetti-strap tank top, a plaid black skirt with green and purple print, and black combat boots.

"I'll give you a hint," says Seven after a moment.

"No," says Fourteen. "I'm perfectly happy to keep this particular mystery unsolved."

Seven shakes his head. "I have to be able to look you in the eye when we go back to school," he says. "I just wanted to say that I won't hold any of this over Fenton's head."

Fourteen smirks. "Good. Because if you do," she says, "then you will be a gelded junior-varsity quarterback." Wobbling a bit, she unsteadily exits the basement, climbing up the stairs. 

* * *

Sam leaves Star's house with her parents, Jeremy and Pamela Manson.

"I'm sorry that I missed curfew without calling you," says Sam, staring at her party favor bag.

"It's okay, honey," says Jeremy. "I can guess things got...involved," he adds with an understanding smile.

"'Involved'?" snorts Sam.

"We weren't _always_ stuffy members of the 'Lollipop Guild', young lady," sputters Jeremy, nudging a stray blond hair back into place.

"You did have a certain...glow in your skin, Sammy-kins," adds Pamela.

"I was sitting in a closet, brooding alone," says Sam.

Jeremy and Pamela look at each other a moment. "If you say so, honey," they say in unison.

Sam rolls her eyes. "Mom, Dad: I don't expect you to buy that I didn't get into anything," she glowers as their car arrives at their mansion, "but I at least would like you to give me the benefit of the doubt in the absence of proof." Scowling, Sam exits the car, heading to the door.

Jeremy gives Pamela a wry grin. "I somehow doubt that we were going to catch our little girl with the fellow _in flagrante delicto_," he says.

"I'm just relieved that Sammy wasn't hurt," says Pamela, "and that her moment wasn't wasted with Danny Fenton."

"Now, dear," says Jeremy. "We promised Sammy that we would give Danny a fair chance."

"I just think she can do better," pouts Pamela. "Danny's a nice enough boy, but his parents are very odd people."

"That may be..." Jeremy continues; he and Pamela continue discussing the matter as they enter their mansion.


	2. Truly a crazed-up fruit loop

**Seven-Year Jock Itch**

byline: _Anubis C. Soundwave_

2. _Truly a crazed-up fruit loop_.

"Biologically and legally, Danielle is mine," says Vlad. "Daniel, she's not related to you in any way."

"How!?" balks Danny. "She's a clone of me!"

Vlad shakes his head. "No, little badger; while at first glance, she and my perfect son you killed," he glowers, "would appear to be clones of you, that was due to simple genetic manipulation at the embryonic cellular level. The problem with using you as the base for a clone hybrid is the same problem which triggered my _start of darkness_, as it were."

"If you're creating a clone of me," says Danny, "you kind of need me."

"Genetics doesn't quite work that way, Daniel," counters Vlad, grinning at Danny. "While you and your sister are clearly the best offspring that imperfect union could possibly produce," he continues, "using you as a genetic clone base has a major drawback, one which I have thankfully opted to avoid by ruling you out as a source."

"Then how did you manage to create clones of me without _me_?" asks Danny.

"Presuming that you mananged to stay awake during Health Sciences or Biology last year, little badger," says Vlad, "you should know that biologically, you are the fifteen-year old result of the meiotic cell division which occurred when your parents copulated-as much as the thought of _that_ disgusts me."

Danny stares at Vlad.

"When your daddy's sperm cell united with your mommy's egg cell-*" sneers Vlad.

"I know that much!" balks Danny.

"Then you understand why I couldn't use you," grins Vlad. "I had to use the best part of you-the part I want."

Danny shakes his head in disbelief as Vlad continues. 

* * *

Jack Fenton stands outside Danny's room, thinking about his mysteriously appearing niece, Danielle. _She has the last name Fenton,_ he muses, _but she looks more like Maddie as a brunette._ Jack fumes silently, blushing. _I know as a scientist that genetic sexual attraction is a thing,_ he continues, _and I'm glad Maddie's around to help me through it-because she's my niece! And a little girl!_

Jack buries his head in his hands. "I'm just relieved it was only a kiss," he whispers aloud. "What will prevent it from going further? I have to send Dani home to her parents before..." Jack's words trail off as he hears Vlad's voice inside Danny's room.

"...all of the good things I like about you," finishes Vlad's voice, "but without the undesired genetic variable of _Jack Fenton_."

"Let me get this straight," says Danny's voice through his door, the teen struggling to contain his anger. "You somehow got possession of my mom's genetic material without her permission?"

Jack's eyes widen, shocked; livid, he stares at the doorknob.

"Daniel!" says Vlad, astonished. "Not in that way. As simple, elegant and ideal as it would be to ravish your beautiful mother; that raises too many unavoidable legal concerns about consent..." Vlad's voice drops to an inaudible whisper.

"You asshole!" spits Danny.

"I assure you," says Vlad sternly, "that you have no cause to believe I sexually accosted Maddie in any way. I simply took a strand of her hair," he continues calmly, "left in a public place. That material is perfectly legal for me to abscond."

"So we're talking about a literal _**Rape of the Lock**_," scoffs Danny.

"It's so wonderful to hear that you're paying attention in Mr. Lancer's English class this year," says Vlad.

"You're not getting Dani," glowers Danny. "I can't help if she's part _you_," he continues with loathing in his voice. "She's my family, and I'm going to protect her."

Jack, next to the doorway, drops to his haunches as Danny storms out of his room, unaware of his forlorn father. 

* * *

Vlad strides out, shutting the door behind him; he notes Jack crouched near the doorway. "Hey, big guy," he says, smiling down on Jack, "what's got you down?"

Jack slowly looks up to face Vlad, giving the smaller man a murderous glare.

Vlad steps back. "Oh. I take it that you...overheard my chat with your son," he says, striving to maintain his cool.

"Some of it," says Jack quietly.

"How much?" asks Vlad blandly, but studying Jack carefully.

"Enough to know that you cloned a thirteen year-old girl by crossing your DNA with my wife's," spits Jack.

Vlad smiles thinly. "For what it's worth, Jack," he says, "I was really going for a son. But that...didn't work out," he adds tersely, "so I really must take Danielle back home to Wisconsin."

"She doesn't want to go home to a jerk who doesn't want her," says Jack. "She told me everything."

Vlad's eyes widen.

"She told me you wanted to get rid of her because you were about to have the son you wanted," continues Jack, "though apparently, _that_ was via petri dish and test tube. It was too much to hope," he adds, "that you would be a normal human being who could fucking move on."

Vlad snickers. "You...have the gall to say that to me?" he hisses. "You? Jackson Daniel Fenton, the man whose mother died in childbirth and whose father committed suicide when he was fifteen? The man who meddled with arcane forces his limited brain could barely comprehend in order to meet his parents again?"

"Yeah," chuckles Jack ruefully. "It's rather pathetic. Almost as pathetic," he continues as he stands, towering over Vlad, "as you: the scrawny, self-absorbed, materialistic loser who didn't have the balls to make a move on Maddie when you had-when I _gave_ you-multiple chances!"

Vlad stares at Jack, taken aback.

"I don't know what kind of 'friend' you ever were," continues Jack, "but I know the kind of friend I've been! I've given you the shirt off my back; I've lent you everything of mine from cash to my damned boxer shorts!"

"None of which I could fit," spits Vlad peevishly.

"And as far as Maddie is concerned, Vlad old buddy," sneers Jack, "I had gone out on one date with her back in college-to break the news to her that you liked her. But before I could even tell her that, she kissed me; and that's when I realized that _I_ liked her. So," Jack continues, "by the time you nutted up enough to tell her how you felt about her yourself, we were already engaged."

"Which I will assert was the greatest mistake she ever made in her life-an error that I intend to rectify," counters Vlad. "Of course, that ecto-acne accident was highly convenient, wasn't it?" he continues derisively.

"...what?" asks Jack, confused.

"You know," says Vlad, "the day you and your soda turned me into a freak of nature, so you could steal Maddie from me all the sooner!"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" balks Jack. "At that point, Maddie had already chosen to be mine. But I understand," he continues calmly. "The idea of others making _choices_ escapes you."

"I didn't rape Madeline, Jack," says Vlad flatly.

"No," says Jack dryly, "you just cloned a child with Maddie's hair and your spunk."

Vlad glares at Jack. "For lack of more accurate words...yes," he says.

Jack snickers. "Danny's right," he says. "You, Vlad, are truly a crazed-up fruit loop. You sick, sorry bastard." 

* * *

"It doesn't matter what you think of my actions," says Vlad blandly. "_Feelings_, old buddy, have nothing to do with the law."

Holding his arms to his sides, Jack slowly clenches and unclenches his fists.

Dani appears in the hallway, drinking a carton of chocolate milk through a straw.

"My, Jack," Vlad continues, "you are a frustrated fellow."

"Are you still talking...?" glowers Jack.

"I'm warning you that it's not wise to hold a high horse over me," says Vlad. "I know the dirty thing you did with my little girl. There must be this delicious wash of relief knowing that Dani's not your niece-which wouldn't have been biologically possible anyway, given that you are the only child of a pair of only children."

Jack continues to clench and unclench his fists.

"Is that why you want to keep her now, Jack?" sneers Vlad. "So that you can fuck Danielle senseless?"

"Shut up, Vlad," says Jack.

"I don't doubt that the incest _taboo_ has been removed from play," Vlad continues with blithe unconcern, "though I must advise you that you would be breaking several statutory rape laws even if she _were_ old enough to grant informed consent."

Enraged, Jack starts to punch the wall near Vlad's head.

"_Assault_, Jack: even if you aim for the wall," says Vlad, smug.

Jack trembles, keeping his fist in check. "Get out of my house," he whispers, "or I will kill you, and this _discussion_ will be moot."

Vlad stiffens, drawing himself up, then walks through the hall and out of Fenton Works.

Emotionally drained, Jack slumps to the ground and curls himself into a massive orange hazmat ball.

Dani gently approaches Jack, nervous. "Hey," she smiles weakly, "who was that guy?"

"Just a weird little freak I used to know back in college," says Jack bitterly. "You won't have to worry about him anymore," he adds, looking into Dani's eyes.

Dani stares at Jack, still confused about her attraction to him. She sits down next to him, quelling the urge to throw her arms around him.

"For what it's worth," Jack says, "I have...feelings I shouldn't have towards you. However you came to join us, though," he continues, "we're still a family: we'll work through this together."

"Yes, sir," grins Dani.


	3. The ghost that only Dash can see

**Seven-Year Jock Itch**

byline: _Anubis C. Soundwave_

3. _The ghost that only Dash can see_.

"Don't hand us that crap, Baxter," says a small forward.

"Yeah," adds a shooting guard, "you're not a gentleman."

"Still won't tell you," says Dash, slipping off his basketball uniform and briefs as he prepares to shower. "Maybe I just want to keep Number Fourteen to myself." He enters the shower and turns on the water.

Just as Dash finishes lathering himself, he notes another teenage male next to him, shampooing his curly brown hair.

Dash stares at the built fellow a moment, sizing him up. "Hey!" he spits. "How'd you get in here, anyway? The shower's obviously occupied," he adds, spreading his arms wide.

"You're silly, Dash," says the teenager. "I walked in through the door."

Dash groans. "Don't tell me the locks on the shower stalls are broken again," he fumes, checking the lock on his door.

The teenager smiles, then rinses out the shampoo.

"Wait a second!" sputters Dash as he returns his focus to the teenager. "This door is fucking locked! Now how'd you get in!?"

The teenager chuckles. "Like this," he says. He walks out of the shower through the locked stall door, then walks back in.

Dash trembles, unable to fully form the syllable of "ghost".

"Damn," grins the teenager, "you remind me so much of Miles sometimes. I'll see you later." The teenager walks out through the tile wall.

After a moment, Dash rinses himself off. "I knew I shouldn't have had the mystery meat today," he mutters. 

* * *

"I don't give a fuck who or what you are!" Dash roars at nothing, to the confusion of his friends. "Quit stalking me! You have been on my ass all day!"

"Dash...?" asks Paulina. "Are you okay?"

"Dude," adds Kwan, "who are you yelling at?"

"What are you laughing about!?" spits Dash. "What do you want with me!? You ate my breakfast at my house, then used the comics section of my morning paper to wipe dog shit off your shoes..." Dash continues to rant at the void.

"It's too cold for heat stroke," says a running back, tugging nervously at his T-shirt collar. A linebacker traces a circle around his right ear repeatedly.

Dash notes the linebacker. "I'm not crazy!" he says, ready to lunge at the linebacker.

Kwan grips Dash's shoulder. "Maybe you're just letting the stress about making the cut to varsity get to you," he says.

Dash shakes his head violently, then stares at Kwan. "Yeah..." he says slowly. "Just...some jitters...that's all. S-sorry, guys." Grinning weakly, Dash walks away from the football field.

"Look," says the running back, "if Dash cracks now, he won't survive the tryouts for varsity quarterback. We need Dash."

"Why?" scoffs the linebacker. "Baxter's not exactly top-seeded talent."

"Shut up, Urlacher," snorts Kwan to the linebacker.

"I'm like a baseball ump," counters Urlacher. "I call it like I see it."

"Be serious," says the running back. "Dash is who we've worked with since freshman year. Or did you forget what happened to our season when Dash was out sick for two weeks and we were stuck with Rex Grieseman?"

Urlacher shudders. "Why'd you have to remind me?" he says. "Fenton would have made a better QB than Grieseman, and he's not even on the team."

"We'll be stuck with Grieseman by default if Dash blows his tryouts," says a tight end.

"Kwan," says Urlacher, "make sure that Baxter gets his shit together and brings his A-game. I cannot continue to be the guy carrying our team defensively when we hit varsity." Urlacher leaves.

Star sighs. "Has no one told Urlacher yet that he didn't make varsity?" she asks, annoyed.

"We didn't have the heart to break it to him," says the running back. 

* * *

The next day, an exhausted Dash trudges through the halls at Casper High, heading to his locker.

Danny, with Fenton Thermos in hand, crashes into Dash in pursuit of a small ghost. Both teens stagger backward.

Dash shakes his head a moment, then looks over Danny, staring at the smaller teenager. "Fenton..." Dash seethes.

"I-I'm sorry," says Danny, bracing for an attack from his perennial tormentor.

Thoughts of a violet-eyed brunette with full and moist violet-black lips and pale, creamy skin fill Dash's mind...along with fury when with his inner eye he sees the girl's legs wrapped around Danny's waist.

"I swear," continues Danny, "I didn't mean...are you okay?"

Dash shakes his head. "Just get lost," he hisses. "Get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind and maul you, Fenton."

"O-okay. Really thankful for the relative civility today," says Danny. He gives a weak smile, then runs through the hall with the Thermos.

Standing in front of his locker, Dash buries his hands in his head. _I've never been so mad at Fenton before,_ he muses, _and the little ass trashed my room during my birthday party last year._

Dash opens his locker, only to have his assortment of pastel teddy bears fall out. "No," he spits aloud. "No! Fenton wouldn't pull the same shit this year-especially since I had my bears in a different part of my room. He didn't do it," Dash continues, "so I'm not going to wail on him."

Dash slams his fist into his palm. "In fact," he continues, bouncing up and down, "I know who did it. It was _you_, wasn't it, you stalking ghost bastard!?"

The locker next to Dash rattles, as if being knocked on.

Dash jumps, snarling wordlessly.

The teenager ghost phases out of the locker, giving Dash a slow, mocking round of applause as he laughs.

Dash growls.

"You...you did it!" beams the ghost teen. "Dashiell, old man, you did it. I put you through all of that shit and practically handed you your favorite human punching bag...and you resisted the bait. Good show. I'm proud of you."

"I don't want to pound Fenton," hisses Dash at the ghost, "because I want to beat you dead!"

"I've been dead for two years already," says the teenager, casually tossing a football.

"Damn it!" spits Dash. "Leave me alone!"

"Sorry, Dash," shrugs the teenager. "I can't do that yet."

"I...I'm going to get rid of you, you asshole," fumes Dash. "Just you wait!" He runs through the hall, in the same direction that Danny went.

The teenager grins, amused. "He's fun. Baxter has already passed the first and most difficult test," he says aloud. "The rest will be cake once I clue him in on the game plan."

The ghost teen blows on a whistle. The ghost Danny was pursuing appears before him.

"Thanks for following the playbook for me," says the teenager to the ghost. "We made first down."

"Why didn't you get the Box Ghost for this crap?" groans the ghost.

"That gunsel Fenton has about eighty ways to catch that goon by now. Unlike you or most of the Ghost Zone population, I'm not trying to cause any trouble here," says the teenager. "I just have unfinished business, and I'll leave the living world when I'm done-and not a minute before."

"Walker's also after you," says the ghost.

"Fuck that square Eliot Ness wannabe," scoffs the teenager. "Hell, I'm more worried about Poindexter than him."

The ghost snickers.

"Seriously," says the teenager. "Tell Sidney that I don't mean any harm to Baxter, okay? I don't need anything or anybody bringing the Phantom into this-least of all my little upperclassman's one-ghost anti-bully crusade."

"Roger," grins the ghost, saluting the teenager. The ghost leaves. 

* * *

"Hey, Fenton," says Dash, approaching Danny as he eats lunch with Sam and Tucker.

Danny and Sam stare at him.

"Don't look at me like that!" Dash spits, his expression haggard. "I need your help with a...problem I'm having," he continues, pouting.

"If it's math homework," says Danny, "then my help is the last thing you need."

"My math grades are better than yours," Dash snorts.

Sam rolls her eyes.

"You know it's true, Manson," Dash grins.

Tucker interjects. "What seems to be your trouble?" he asks, grinning.

"I need Fenton's help, Foley," glowers Dash. "Your overpriced calculator isn't going to help me."

"PDAs are the future," says Tucker.

The teenager sits next to Tucker. "Actually, kiddo," he says, "cell phones are going to supplant that thing in about three years."

"You mean those dinky flip phones?" wonders Tucker.

"Yeah," says the teenager. "They'll be more like mini computers, though: you can log onto the internet, download music, even watch movies."

Dash stares at the teenager, livid. "Him!" he spits. "_He's_ the problem I've been having!"

"What's wrong with him?" asks Danny. "I think it's nice to meet a jock who isn't an asshole."

"Unless he's pulling my leg about handheld mini-computer phones," adds Tucker.

_Give up, Dash,_ the teenager mouths silently, out of view of Danny, Tucker, and Sam.

"Listen, Fenton," scowls Dash. "That guy Foley is next to: he's a ghost!"

"The varsity jock?" asks Sam. "He got up and left."

"No, Manson; he's right fucking there! Look," Dash continues, "he's doing the bunny-ear finger thing behind Foley's head!"

The teenager laughs. "Not going to work," he whispers.

Danny stares balefully at Dash. "I want you to trust me on this," he says. "Without going into details, I will simply say that if there were a ghost near me, I would know it immediately."

"Fenton, I'm serious!" counters Dash.

"Immediately!" says Danny. "Dash, you get an A-plus for effort this go-round," he continues. "If it weren't for the fact that I would know-_immediately_-if a ghost were around, then I might have fallen for your prank. But it was very creatively done."

"I understand why you want to punch him sometimes, Dashiell," says the teenager. "He can be a catty little gunsel."

"What the fuck is a gunsel!?" shrieks Dash. "I don't want to punch Fenton! I want you! You, you, you!"

"Dash," balks Sam, a bit worried. "Who are you screaming at?"

Dash shuts his eyes tight. "You know what!? Fuck it," he says. "I'll just ask your parents, Fenton."

"Dash," says Danny, "that's not a good idea right now. My parents are in a foul mood and their lab is on lockdown."

"They're ghost hunters," spits Dash, "and I'm being haunted by the most obnoxious ghost...un-alive!" He storms away.

The teenager follows Dash. 

* * *

Dani, noting the teenager, rushes up to Danny.

"Hi, Dani," grins Danny. "Dash is losing it."

Dani snorts. "Who cares about that moron?" she hisses. "Didn't you see that ghost jock?"

"Did your ghost sense go off?" asks Danny in a whisper.

"Yes," spits Dani.

"Well, mine..." Danny trails off, noting his ghost sense. "Never mind: it just did. It's inside the kitchen."

"I'm going to get him!" grins Dani.

"We'll work together," says Danny.

Dani nods.

The two halfas, Sam, and Tucker leave their lunch, heading to the restroom.

Moments later, both Phantoms attack...the Box Ghost.

"This is thoroughly and completely unfair," pouts the Box Ghost, dodging the heroes' ecto-blasts.

Dani seethes. "Just get in the fucking Thermos," she spits.

"Uh, shouldn't I fight you two first?" asks the Box Ghost. "You know: 'Beware: I am the Box-*'"

"Get in now!" Dani orders, her green eyes turning red and her skin a sickly pale teal.

The Box Ghost meekly obeys, terrified of Dani.

"Careful," says Sam. "You're starting to grow fangs like your dad."

Dani shudders as she reverts to normal. "Gross..." she mutters.

"We shouldn't waste any more time," says Danny, also reverting to normal, "chasing after the ghost that only Dash can see." 

* * *

"Jazz," says Dash, sullen. "I need to speak with your parents. This is serious."

"I'm sorry," says Jazz. "They're holed up in the lab and they ordered me not to let anyone disturb them."

"I...I don't want to bother them," says Dash. "I just need to borrow your dad's Fenton Gauntlets. There's a ghost stalking me that I want to beat into the nearest afterlife."

The teenager phases into Fenton Works and sits on the couch next to Jazz. He casually places an arm around Jazz's waist, then fondles Jazz's breast.

"Jazz," says Dash, staring at the empty space next to Jazz. "The ghost is sitting right next to you: groping your tatas."

"Dash," says Jazz, pulling out a steno notebook. "Tell me: what does the ghost look like?"

Dash sighs. "He has curly brown hair, and he's wearing a letter jacket like mine. His T-shirt's white instead of black, he's wearing khakis like a preppy, and he has on brown loafers instead of sneakers."

_Oddly-specific description,_ muses Jazz as she writes her observations about Dash in her notebook. "Are you sure you're not just fantasizing about me again?" she asks. "Only you've created an imaginary avatar to-*"

"Wait..." says Dash slowly. "Are you treating me like I'm some guidance counselor's patient?"

"Psychologist's patient," corrects Jazz, "and sort of, yes."

Dash shakes his head. "I'll just grab your dad's Gauntlets," he says, "and then I'll be gone, okay?" Dash leaves the living room, headed for the lab. 

* * *

"I never thought Mr. Fenton could be such an asshole," says Dash, sitting morosely at his dining room table at home. "He's usually such a happy-go-lucky guy."

"I wonder why the parents of the kid you're usually bullying," says the teenager, sitting on the table, "would not possibly believe that you're haunted by a ghost their ghost-tracking equipment haven't been able to detect."

"You...you're doing something to all of their gadgets and machines!" blubbers Dash, close to tears.

The teenager grins. "That's true," he says. "I have been mucking around with their doodads. I'm a top-notch mechanic."

"What do I have to do to get rid of you!?" whines Dash. "Quit picking on me!"


	4. Trying way too hard at the wrong things

**Seven-Year Jock Itch**

byline: _Anubis C. Soundwave_

4. _Trying way too hard at the wrong things_.

The teenager laughs at Dash for several minutes.

Fuming helplessly, Dash jerks up from his dining room chair and heads to his room...

...only to find the teenager on Dash's bed, still laughing.

"This...no," whimpers Dash. "This shit has gone on for over two months..."

The teenager's laughter subsides. "I'm about to die, again. To die...of laughter," he says. 

"I don't get it," says Dash. "Why are you after me? What did I do to deserve this?"

The teenager shrugs.

"Are you my conscience or my guardian angel," asks Dash slowly, "trying to be a dick to get me to change my 'evil, bullying ways' or something?"

"While that's refreshingly genre savvy of you, old man," says the teenager, "no. I'm a...how did you put it...? 'Guh-guh-guh...'."

"Ghost!" spits Dash petulantly, his pride wounded. "And you're bullying me! Believe me, I know!"

"That's right," smirks the teenager. "I am. What are you going to do about it?" 

* * *

"No! That's not fair!" seethes Dash. "There are rules! I don't just bully geeks randomly. They have to do something to annoy me. So," he continues, "what did I do to you!?"

"Nothing," says the teenager simply. "You've done nothing to me."

"Then...why!?" Dash demands.

"Because I can," shrugs the teenager. "Because you're there, you're easy pickings, and no one else picks on you. I like to be original."

Dash stares at the teenager, confused.

"I have to say, I've never bullied anyone before. I never imagined it would be so easy," continues the teenager, "especially since I haven't even done anything I've seen bullies do. I haven't punched you, I haven't thrown you into a locker; hell, I haven't even insulted you once: and you are ripe for insults."

"You know what you're doing!" counters Dash, glowering. "You're following me, being seen and heard by other people only when you feel like it, and making me look like a nutcase!"

"Listen," says the teenager, "I understand, Dashiell."

"Quit calling me 'Dashiell'!" splutters Dash. "Nobody calls me that!"

"The point is, I completely get how you feel," says the teenager. "I'm everywhere you don't want me to be. I push all of your buttons, and I do things to bait you into making a fool of yourself..."

Dash clutches his head as he shakes it in disbelief.

"...and you can't do anything to stop me, can you?" sneers the teenager. "You feel helpless, afraid, and scared-and for a big, strong fellow like you, that has to be humiliating: to be busted down to the same level as that gunsel Danny Fenton."

Dash seethes with rage at the teenager.

"Seriously: how does it really _feel_ to be Danny Fenton?" the teenager asks. 

* * *

"I feel worse than Fenton!" spits Dash. "Fenton can strike back at me in shitty, passive-aggressive ways."

"'Passive-aggressive'?" wonders the teenager.

"I pay attention to his sister Jazz sometimes," says Dash. "Anyway, Fenton can get his back from me because I'm alive. You're a ghost, and the people who have the tools to retaliate against you won't help me because they don't believe you're real! In the most haunted suburb in America," continues Dash, ranting, "where you can't spit without running into a ghost, no one believes that I'm being stalked by one!"

"And you know why that is, don't you?" says the teenager, unsympathetic.

Dash shakes his head.

"Yes, you do, Dash," continues the teenager, "you do. Don't try to shit me, Dashiell Miles Baxter."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," says Dash in a strained whisper, his voice hoarse.

"Why don't you say it?" asks the teenager. "It's the truth, and you know it's the truth, because you're not a stupid kid."

Dash glares at the teenager.

"But it's okay," continues the teenager. "I know it hurts to look in the mirror and not like what you see. I know it's painful to realize that you defeated yourself before you even ran your first play." The teenager scowls, his expression sober. "I've been there."

Dash drops to his haunches, rubbing his temples. "Okay," he says after a moment, "now that you've had your fun deconstructing my psyche by being a low-end Dr. Phil, what the fuck do you want with me? I'm sure you have more important things to do with your afterlife than to dick around with a sophomore jock."

"That's just it," spits the teenager. "I don't have anything better to do. There is literally nothing to do in the Ghost Zone. Being tortured in hell would be an improvement," he continues. "At least I wouldn't be bored."

"So," says Dash, "by bullying me, you'll be able to escape the Ghost Zone?"

The teenager stares at Dash a moment. "I...would like you to withhold any further exotic leaps of logic," he says, "until you get more information."

"Great," says Dash. "All you have to do is tell me why you're here, what you want, and what it has to do with me. I'll be happy to help you," he continues, "if for no other reason than to get rid of you."

"Can't do that, Dash," says the teenager. "If you want me gone, then you're going to have to earn it."

"What!?" shrieks Dash.

"You aren't stupid," continues the teenager, "just selectively lazy. And," he continues, "you're trying way too hard at the wrong things."

Dash scratches his head.

"Get some rest, old man," says the teenager. "Your tryouts are tomorrow." The teenager phases through Dash's window.

After a moment of mute shock, Dash walks to his bed, then falls backward onto it, staring at the ceiling in his bedroom.


	5. Someone who's good

**Seven-Year Jock Itch**

byline: _Anubis C. Soundwave_

5. _Someone who's good, and knows he's good, won't throw it all away for nothing_.

"I've finally cornered you!" says Dani, in her Phantom form as she glares down the teenager. "Return those books now!"

"Why?" asks the teenager. "I've checked them out. Ask the librarian if you don't believe me."

"You're a ghost!" spits Dani. "You can't check out books!"

"Go back to middle school, kid," says the teenager. "I don't want to play with you."

"You..." says Dani slowly. "You can evade Danny's ghost sense," she continues, "but not mine."

"Correct, little Phantom," says the teenager. "Tell your teacher to give you a gold star."

"You're not supposed to be here!" says Dani. "Get back to the Ghost Zone, or I'll have to get rough with you."

"Why?" snorts the teenager. "I'm not bothering anyone except Dash Baxter," he continues, "and I'll leave here and the Ghost Zone when I'm done."

"Normally I wouldn't care about that asshole," says Dani, "but why pester him? Did he beat you at varsity tryouts?"

"No, kiddo," says the teenager. "My days for that are long over."

"Then why?" wonders Dani.

"If you want to know so badly, ghost girl," says the teenager, "then you can follow Dash's attempts to find out."

"Why did you take those books?" demands Dani.

"Because Dash needs them to figure out who I am," says the teenager, "and I won't make it easy for him." He kisses Dani on the cheek, then picks up the books and phases away.

Danny appears behind Dani. "Why are you out in the open? Where's the ghost?" he asks Dani.

"He just left!" spits Dani. "The jerk claims that he checked out books from the school library."

"Wait," says Danny. "Is this Dash's imaginary 'stalker jock ghost' again?"

"He's not imaginary!" balks Dani. "Dash's skull is too thick to make up a jock who apparently can check out library books. Your ghost sense is on the fritz." 

* * *

The teenager laughs a moment, then sighs. "That girl will make things complicated if I don't find a way to distract her," he muses aloud.

"What makes you say that, buster brown?" asks Sidney, scowling.

"Poindexter, take it easy," says the teenager. "I swear that I'm on the even. I haven't harmed anyone-not even guys like Dash Baxter who could stand a taste of their own medicine."

"You have to go back to the Ghost Zone," says Sidney.

"No. I want to go to heaven, to hell, to be reincarnated, or to be annihilated," says the teenager, "but I don't belong in the Ghost Zone...wait."

Sidney stares at the jock ghost.

"That's why that girl can sense me, Poindexter," grins the teenager. "She's not like the other kids at this school-including Danny Phantom. She operates on a different spiritual wavelength."

"Really?" wonders Sidney.

"You see," explains the teenager. "Dani Phantom looks and behaves like a thirteen year-old girl, but when I kissed her cheek, her energy felt like a toddler's-like she was literally born last year or something. I know there's this creepy Hammer Dracula halfa bastard who is Danny Phantom's arch enemy," the teenager continues. "Her energy feels a bit like that guy's."

"Vlad Plasmius," says Sidney. "I've heard he was working on cloning Danny Phantom."

"Cloning? Like in a space invader B-movie?" wonders the teenager.

"Actually, it involves cellular mitosis and gene manipulation-*" begins Sidney.

"Never mind, Sidney," says the teenager. "Could you be a good bean and not let either of the Phantoms know about me?" he asks.

Sidney pouts. "You're being a bully to Dash," he says. "Even if he's a bully, two wrongs don't make a right."

"I know I'm putting a bug in Dash's shoe," admits the teenager, "but I have a good reason-in fact, I'm doing Dash a huge favor. He just doesn't realize it yet."

"Really?" asks Sidney.

"Really," says the teenager.

"Is this because of that guy you had beat up during senior prom," asks Sidney, "because he was with Paula Schumacher at the Point?"

"You're right, Sid," says the teenager bitterly. "It has everything to do with that gunsel," he continues, "and if you'd kindly back off and let me work, everything will be clear."

"Dead or alive," says Sidney, "I won't tolerate bullies."

"Just stay away from me, please," says the teenager. "I can't afford to be found out by the Phantom right now."

Sidney sighs. "You used to be the nicest kid I knew," he says, sad, "until that day." He floats away.

"Yeah," says the teenager soberly, "I know."

The teenager opens an old yearbook he had checked out to a school newspaper clipping, an editorial memorializing Sidney Poindexter's death and condemning the bullies who drove him to suicide. 

* * *

"Every book I'm looking for is checked out!?" balks Dash to the school librarian.

"Hush," whispers the librarian, scowling at Dash. "And yes, Mr. Baxter: a varsity athlete checked out all of the books you're looking for."

"A varsity...?" mutters Dash. His eyes widen. "Wait," he hisses, struggling to remain quiet. "Was he a little bit taller than me, with curly light brown hair and tassel loafers?"

The librarian nods.

"But some of the books I'm trying to check out are books you can't take out of the library," continues Dash, "like yearbooks and stuff. I know even we varsity jocks have limits to our clout."

"Congratulations on making varsity, Mr. Baxter," says the librarian wryly. "I did point that out to him, but he was such a charmer," she continues. "That boy was a dead ringer for someone I used to date when I was in high school. He had the touch of an angel..." The librarian sighs, lost in the reverie of her teenage past.

"Microfiche," says Dani, appearing behind Dash.

Dash whips around to face Dani. "What do you want, Fenton-ette?" he snorts.

Dani grabs Dash's hand and drags the tall blond away from the circulation desk. "Let's face facts, jerk-off," she hisses. "I'm the only person who knows you're not crazy and not smart enough to pull off elaborate ghost hoaxes-so I'm the only ally you have: got it?"

"What does any of this have to do with 'micro-fish'?" wonders Dash.

Dani fumes at Dash. "No wonder that guy can jerk you around! Damn, you're a lummox," she spits. "Just follow me." Dani walks past several bookshelves, with Dash following.

The two teens reach the microfiche station.

"Okay...?" asks Dash.

"It's kind of like those _View Master_ toys," explains Dani as she tries to operate a microfiche, "only they're in black and white. What are you looking for?"

"Anything about Casper High jocks during the 1950s," says Dash. "Mainly football."

The microfiche shuts down suddenly.

A maintenance worker appears behind the two teens. "Sorry," the man grunts unsympathetically, "but the microfiches are all down. I hadn't put up the sign yet."

Dani trembles, concealing her ghost sense. _That old man...he's a ghost!_ she seethes silently.

"Too bad, Dashiell," the maintenance worker continues. "You were so close." He walks away, smirking.

Dani stares at the retreating maintenance worker. _I know that smirk...wait! That old man is that same asshole jock ghost! He busted the machines!_ she fumes.

"How did that old man know my name?" wonders Dash, unnerved as he studies his school ID. "I have 'Dash M. Baxter' on this."

"This is bothering me too," says Dani truthfully. "We need somebody smarter than you to help us find and bust this jock ghost."

"Then we need to play 'What Do We Know'," says Dash, annoyed.

"Eh?" says Dani, staring at Dash as the blond jock sits at a table and opens a notebook.

"Watch _**Square One**_ sometime, Fenton-ette," quips Dash. "That show can only help your math grades."

Sam quietly approaches Dash and Dani as they continue chatting.

"...so I know he was a real jock before he died, and I know he can fuck with machines-he must have possessed that old walking _Geritol_ ad to break the microfiche before we got to it," hisses Dash.

"In a way, dumbass," grins Dani, "you're right."

"Right about what?" asks Sam as she joins the pair.

"That jock ghost," says Dani. "He's real. He was a Casper High student during the 1950s, and this mook can even describe what he looks like," she adds, nodding to Dash.

"The problem is," spits Dash, "I can't prove it because I can't even find a picture of the jackass when he was alive."

"If only to help you both end this imaginary ghost hunt," says Sam, "why not ask someone at school who's a major Casper High football nut? If there was a player during the '50s who matches Dash's description, that person would know about it."

"There isn't anybody here who likes our school's pitiful sports program that much," Dani snorts.

Dash plants an index finger onto the tip of Dani's nose. "That," he smirks, "is where you're wrong." Dash rises to his feet.

"What is he getting at?" wonders Dani.

"Thanks, Sammy," says Dash. He plants a full kiss on the goth's lips, then walks quickly out of the library, grinning.

"What did you say that made him so giddy?" asks Dani.

Sam touches her lips, blushing. "I don't know..." she says, confused. 

* * *

"Thanks for helping me out, Mr. Lancer," says Dash. "With me in varsity now," he adds, "Coach Tetslaff really wants me to keep my grades up."

"That's true," says Mr. Lancer. "I'm glad to see you taking such initiative. Do you wish anything else from me?" he asks.

"It's...not academic, but it is school-related," says Dash.

Lancer raises an eyebrow.

"You see, I've been trying to learn about past Casper High quarterbacks," says Dash, "mainly from the 1950s. Problem is," he adds ruefully, "it's apparently a popular subject."

"Hm. How popular?" asks Lancer.

"Enough that the microfiche machine burned out. Some old maintenance guy named Petersen said that all the machines were busted," says Dash.

"Petersen...?" wonders Lancer, his eyes widening.

"Yeah," says Dash. "That's what it said on his uniform's name patch."

"He hasn't worked here in two years, Mr. Baxter," says Lancer, in shock.

"Oh," says Dash. "Is he retired and just doing some part-time volunteer work?"

"He was doing part-time paid retiree work after he turned sixty-five due to declining health," says Lancer, shaking, "but he died two years ago. A good man," he continues sadly, "who had tragically destroyed his own future in his youth."

"Two years ago..." muses Dash aloud.

"Mr. Baxter," asks Lancer soberly, "if you were no longer able to play sports, what other plans do you have?"

"Why are you sounding like our new guidance counselor all of a sudden?" asks Dash.

"Because of Mr. Petersen," says Lancer. "His wrecked youth was an object lesson for student athletes to always have a backup plan...in case life throws you a curve ball."

"I don't get it," says Dash.

"Then please allow me to explain," says Mr. Lancer. 

* * *

Dash relaxes on the bleachers after school, grinning.

The teenager sits next to him. "You're in too smug a mood, Dashiell," he says cannily. "What shall I do to spoil your day today?"

"I had a good, relaxing weekend," says Dash, "so I don't know. What do you have cooked up for me...Randall?" he adds with a smirk.

The jock ghost snorts. "If I were Rumpelstiltskin," he grins, "you'd be wrong."

"I know that much, Randolph Petersen," says Dash, casually tossing a football at the teenager.

"Let me guess: you went to visit your grandpa," says the teenager. "And everyone calls me 'Randy'."

"Shut up, 'Randy'. Let me savor this," says Dash. "Between Mr. Lancer and my grandfather-who _believed_ me when I told him that you were haunting the school, by the way-I finally got your stupid life story and why you'd be lingering here like gas from eating bad Nasty Burgerritos."

"If Miles believed you, it's because he-like you-was a tempermental sociopath," says Randy, grinning. "In your case the apple never fell off the tree. Please, go on."

"From what I gather," Dash continues, "you lived in Elmerton and commuted to Amity Park to go to Casper High. Your parents worked their asses off because you were the youngest of five boys," he says.

Randy nods.

"The two eldest fought in World War Two, and one of those older brothers died," continues Dash.

"They were twins," says Randy, "and both of them were named Frederick. One was called Fred, and the other was called Rick. Fred died fighting the Nazis, and I barely remember him; Rick, however, I remember as my favorite big brother-and he's quite alive and well."

"So there's actually some octogenarian out there who probably taught you the art of being an asshole when he was a kid," snickers Dash. "That's part of the reason I was able to go to Lancer and get the info I needed-I knew you wouldn't touch him, even though as a ghost you could easily get away with it."

Randy stares at Dash.

"Like I said before," says Dash sardonically, "bullies have internal rules. You could fuck with machinery and mess with our heads only to an extent," he continues, "but you weren't going to waste time or energy on Mr. Lancer-whose newspaper clippings are private property, or my grandfather..."

"...who, despite being an asshole, was one of my best friends," says Randy, gently punching Dash's arm. "Miles, Rick, and Paula were the only ones to believe in me-and not give up on me-when I fucked up and pissed my future away."

"Yeah," says Dash, "about that. Why would you beat the shit out of one nerd to the point where the cops had to lock you away?"

"Like I said back then," says Randy, glowering, "because I felt like it."

"Okay, now who's trying to shit who, Petersen!?" spits Dash. "You're not even close to being an idiot!"

Randy trembles.

"Your parents slaved during the Depression, and your brothers had to work odd jobs since they were kids," says Dash, "to get your ass to be the first kid in their family to be in high school. You were your family's champion, you were the undisputed most popular kid in Casper High. You were 'Mr. Perfect'."

"So?" asks Randy.

"'So'?" snorts Dash. "You had brains and brawn, an athlete and a scholar, as you'd probably put it. You _transcended_ bullying: you didn't need to bully losers, and you didn't like the fact that others did, so you wrote an editorial in the school paper when Sidney Poindexter locked himself in his own locker and ate a cyanide pill to kill himself."

"What are you getting at?" Randy asks.

"You're not me," says Dash, morose. "You aren't a shitty, third-string quarterback who only made varsity because the other candidate was even worse. Nor are you a moron with shit grades."

"Spare me your pity party," hisses Randy. "As I told you before, you're not stupid; you're just lazy. Since I didn't hand you what you wanted to know about me," he continues, smiling, "you had to actually think and work-which you're perfectly willing and able to do when you give a damn about the outcome."

"My point is," says Dash with a thin, sour smile, "that you never had my problems or flaws to hold you back. You didn't need to maul a geek to validate yourself."

"A word of wisdom, Dash," says Randy. "You don't need to, either."

"Stay with me, Gramps," smirks Dash. 

* * *

Sam walks up to Dash, ranting aloud on the bleachers.

"...so, yeah, smartass; I know you didn't just wail on a geek without a real reason, and I'm going to find out what it is!" Dash notes Sam, sighs, and smiles at her. "You...don't see him, do you, Manson?"

"Who?" asks Sam, noting that Dash was indeed the only apparent occupant on the bleachers.

"The ghost of Randolph 'Mr. Perfect' Petersen," says Dash.

"He has a name now," Sam mutters.

"He always had a name," says Dash calmly. "He also had a future that he pissed away."

Sam sighs, then sits next to Dash.

"I know what I'm talking about," Dash continues. "A man like Petersen," he adds, looking into Sam's eyes as he speaks, "someone who's good, and knows he's good: won't throw it all away for nothing."

Sam places her hand over Dash's hand. "All right," she says. "There are three conclusions to reach here. You've gone completely insane," Sam continues, "you've taken top-level acting classes, or you're telling the truth: the ghost of a former Casper High varsity football player has indeed been harassing you for the past three months."

"Which conclusion is most likely?" asks Dash.

"Given that Dani has had me sitting in the school library with her until it closed, determining the common thread of the missing library material," grins Sam, "I have to reluctantly go with conclusion three."

"I would have picked conclusion one, Manson," says Dash.

"Why?" asks Sam.

"Because I'd have to be insane to kiss you in public," Dash grins. He stands, picks Sam up by the waist, and spins around before setting her on her feet. "Later, Manson," he says, picking up his book bag and leaving the football field.

"What's insane about kissing me in public!?" balks Sam.

Randy appears next to her. "The fact that he'd be stuck with blue onions for the rest of his day while thinking about you, Samantha," he says.

Sam steps back, surprised by Randy's presence. "Hey...you were that guy talking to Tucker about mini-computers," she says. "And don't call me Samantha."

"I'm just a bit old fashioned, I guess," shrugs Randy. "Got a girly name you don't hate?" he asks.

"Eve," says Sam.

"Then stay clear of any snakes in the grass," says Randy. "Give Dash a chance," he adds. "He seems to think you're his missing rib."

Sam stares at Randy. "When did you show up?" she asks.

"I was sitting next to Dash the whole time. Just don't tell your friend the gunsel about me yet, okay, Eve?" says Randy, floating into the air.

Dani rushes out to a wide-eyed Sam, who stares at the sky as Randy vanishes.

Dani looks up with Sam, then faces the goth. "Yes! In your face!" crows Dani. "I am vindicated!"


	6. One is a genius the other's insane

**Seven-Year Jock Itch**

byline: _Anubis C. Soundwave_

6. _One is a genius; the other's insane_.

Outside his bedroom, Danny picks up a white lab mouse. "Pinky?" he asks. "What are you doing out of the lab?"

Pinky squeaks at Danny as if to answer him.

Danny trembles slightly, noting his ghost sense. "Maybe Dani's right: my ghost sense _is_ on the fritz," he says aloud. "It's going off around Pinky." He takes Pinky to the door outside the lab, then knocks on it.

Maddie answers via intercom. "Danny, hon," she asks, "what is it?"

"One of your lab mice got out," says Danny.

Maddie sighs. "It must be that Pinky," she says. "Drop him in the chute," Maddie adds as a hatch opens near the door. "He'll be okay."

"Down you go, little buddy. No trying to take over the world, okay?" grins Danny as he drops Pinky into the chute.

"Danny," asks Maddie, "have you seen your father?"

"No," says Danny. "I haven't seen him for days. He took the FFAV out a while ago," he continues. "Said it was for a special ghost-hunting trip."

"Where did he say he was headed?" asks Maddie sharply.

"He..._didn't_ say where he was headed," says Danny.

After a moment, Maddie emerges from the lab. "Let's go into the Fenton Family Den, hon," she says to Danny. "We need to talk."

Danny stares at his mom. "Okay..." he says slowly.

Danny and Maddie leave the lab. 

* * *

"Mom kept giving me the third degree, Jazz," says Danny as he, Sam, Jazz, Tucker, and Dani are in Jazz's bedroom. "'Danny, were you ever in the lab without our supervision?', for example-and of course, I had to lie about that."

"That could mean that your parents might have figured out the truth about Danny Phantom," says Sam.

"No," says Jazz, shaking her head. "They might suspect, but they don't have any proof. Being scientists, they won't act without proof."

"Mom won't act without proof," counters Danny. "Dad might kill me trying to reverse what happened to me."

"Which is an improvement over both of them wanting to kill you to dissect and study you," quips Tucker.

Danny scowls. "There's no bright side to this. What could have possibly tipped them off?" he wonders.

Dani hugs herself. "Me," she says. "I snuck in the lab to get the Fenton Phones-*"

"Even though it's still on lockdown!" spits Danny.

"Let me finish!" Dani shoots back. "The point is, Uncle Ja-I mean, Mr. Fenton-caught me and went ballistic."

"No; you were right the first time, as far as I'm concerned," says Danny. "Go on."

Dani sighs. "Your dad was this twisted combo of worried and pissed-and when the Fenton Ghost Alarms went off in the lab he just stopped ranting and stared at me for a moment," she says, "then quietly asked me to go to Jazz's room. I'm sick of having to sleep in here," Dani says, pouting and blushing. "I want my room in the attic back."

"Dad...just wants to protect you, Dani," says Danny soberly.

"From what?" ask Sam and Tucker.

"Forget about it," says Danny. "The real mystery is that we need to figure out where Dad went."

"If he's in the FFAV," says Tucker, "we can check the command computer...oh," he says slowly, trailing off as he remembers the lockdown.

"That's right!" says Danny, sullen. "Off-limits," he adds with a look to Dani.

Dani trembles.

"Do you think we could convince Valerie to let us use her gear to track the FFAV?" asks Sam. "You could offer yourself to her in return."

"She'd make sure I honored that promise whether I plan to renege or not," says Danny wryly. "We're pretty much hosed on this, guys."

Jazz sighs. "Let's just get ready for school tomorrow," she says. "We won't accomplish anything here."

The other teens nod; they leave Jazz's room.

Jazz studies a picture of Dani clinging to Jack's back during a Fenton Family trip to the beach last summer. _The two of them look so carefree here,_ she muses, smiling sadly. _What happened to this picture?  
_

* * *

"Puberty," spits Jack under his breath, driving the FFAV down the freeway to Wisconsin at top speed. "Fucking puberty..."

_"...you're not really talking about agriculture and science, are you?" asked Danny, studying Jack._

_Jack smiled at the peach he had picked from a tree in his family orchard. "You're...right, Danny," he said sadly. "I'm not. I'm talking about something deeper in human nature." He took a bite of the peach._

_"What do you mean, Dad?" asked Danny._

_"I...want to keep saying to myself that Vlad's sick," said Jack, "that there's something wrong with him. But," he chuckled ruefully, "the only thing wrong with him is that he's human."_

_"What's wrong with being human?" Danny wondered._

_"Do you know why the story of the Garden of Eden rings so true to people, son?" Jack asked._

_"It's...easier to blame talking snakes for all the evil we do?" scoffed Danny._

_Jack shook his head. "No, Daniel," he said. "It's because we're curious, selfish, and greedy. No matter how much we have, we always want more. We always reach for what we know we're not supposed to have, and when we get a taste of that forbidden fruit," continued Jack, "we always crave more-we can never say to ourselves, 'enough', 'stop'." Jack bit into the peach again, slowly savoring the fruit._

_"Dad," said Danny, "once upon a time, we could only travel as far as our feet could take us. We couldn't drive, or fly. It's like being a butterfly coming out of its cocoon," he continued. "If we don't struggle, and constantly test our limits, we won't grow. Everything about us would just grow stagnant; it would all atrophy and die."_

_"So you'd say eating the forbidden fruit was a good thing," snorted Jack._

_"Yeah, I guess," said Danny. "I think that even if Adam and Eve ignored the talking snake, something else would have come up, or they would have demanded to leave Eden eventually."_

_"Once you leave Eden," said Jack, "there's no turning back, or changing your mind. Once you eat the fruit," he continued, displaying the half-eaten peach, "it can't be undone."_

_"Presupposing God exists," said Danny, "he was a jerk for putting the forbidden fruit tree in the Garden in the first place."_

_"Why?" spat Jack. "A direct warning to His presupposed creations of 'don't eat it, or you shall surely die' isn't enough?"_

_"Dad," said Danny wryly, rubbing the back of his head, "you know the answer to that better than I do."_

_"I remember being worried sick when you...weren't moving," said Jack, tense. "Just holding a mint double-chocolate chip cookie in your little four-year old hand."_

_"I think Jazz told me I had to get eight stitches," grinned Danny._

_"It wasn't funny," said Jack. "You nearly died."_

_"I know," said Danny, losing the smile. "But it's hardwired into who we are."_

_"And what if sating our curiosity," asked Jack, "our urges and drives, hurts innocent people we're supposed to protect?"_

_"I...?" Danny shook his head. "I don't know."_

_"Makes you wish you could do it over, then, doesn't it?" said Jack. He finished eating the peach in a few bites.  
_

* * *

"Dash," spits Sam, "that's ridiculous."

"Listen, Manson," says Dash. "I'm just saying that Fenton's dad probably wants to cool off on his own."

"Why?" asks Sam.

"Because there's an extra girl in the house," says Dash. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"I get what you're insinuating," says Sam. "I just think you're wrong."

"I'm going to have to break this down, Manson," grins Dash, "because you refuse to believe it's possible. Mr. Fenton has a wife: Fenton's hot mom, a beautiful daughter, and Fenton-but nobody bats a thousand, right?"

Sam scowls at Dash. "Go on," she says dourly.

"Okay, then," continues Dash. "Mr. Fenton is the undisputed alpha male in his home. He has his wife to take care of the needs downstairs," he says, "and Jazz is strictly in the 'daddy's little girl' zone."

"Scientifically, it's called the Westermarck Effect," says Sam. "In normal families-that is to say, what we were culturally trained to recognize as right for generations-that means that if you grew up together in a familial relationship; then, to trot out what you were hinting at, Jack Fenton will not want to mount his 'attractive' daughter."

"And won't allow other men from outside the Fenton clan to mount her until she's fifty if he can help it," grins Dash. "This also means that Jack and Daniel-that is to say, Fentorino and Mr. Fenton-are men that Jazz will want to un-see if she ever saw them naked."

"So that leaves Dani, then," says Sam.

"Yeah. She's a missing cousin, right?" Dash asks. "So...this requires me to admit to something you must pinky-swear not to reveal," he says, sticking out his pinky finger. "I haven't even told Kwan this shit."

"Are we in grade school, Dash?" snorts Sam.

"Do it!" pouts Dash.

Sam sighs, linking her pinky with Dash.

Dash whispers into Sam's ears; Sam's eyes widen as she blushes.

"Dash," says Sam, "that would be the flip side of the Westermarck coin: genetic sexual attraction. However, leaving aside our long-standing cultural taboos," she continues, "there's also the fact that Dani is underage, and Danny's dad is in his early forties."

"The penis does not care for such trivialities," intones Dash jokingly.

"No, but the Amity Park police department and Chris Hansen do care," says Sam, hitting Dash on the back of his head, "and I'm sure that so does Mr. Fenton."

"Exactly," says Dash. "Mr. Fenton is putting his member in 'time-out' for a while." He gives Sam a wry grin.

"I'm sure Danny will appreciate your hypothesis about his father leaving Fenton Works to keep himself off _**Dateline NBC**_," scoffs Sam. "Now, getting back to our invisible 'friend' Randy..." She continues to chat with Dash. 

* * *

Dani pouts, curled up in the middle of her bed. She scowls as her ghost sense goes off.

"Hello, Danielle," grins Randy.

"You could at least knock on the window," glowers Dani. "I'm not letting you bully me."

"I'm not here to bully you," says Randy. "I only tweak assholes."

"Then are you going to tell me why you're here instead of the Ghost Zone?" asks Dani.

"No," states Randy, "because I've already told Dash, and I hate repeating myself."

"But Dash doesn't buy your reason," says Dani. "His jock instincts cry foul."

"'Jock instincts..." snorts Randy.

"Look, I know how stupid that sounds-you have to consider the source," says Dani.

"I have," says Randy. "I've known about Dash for a long time; he just doesn't really recall me-the old, adult me who was alive until two years ago-except as a grouchy old man who hung out with another grouchy old man to bitch and moan about stupid teenagers."

"Surely you're smart enough to know that you and Dash's grandpa were both full of crap in your _Depends_, right?" smirks Dani.

"We both knew we were full of shit," quips Randy, "but damn it: our elderly people bitched about us when I was a jock and Miles was a leather jacket wearing greaser; and their decrepit old fogies groused about them when they were kids. It's just a stupid rite of passage for the generations."

"Don't you think the '50s were stupid, though?" asks Dani.

"The rigid social conformity, yeah. Our clothes were far better than the '70s, though," continues Randy, pulling out a freshman yearbook picture of Mr. Lancer. "Bob Ross is the only white man in America who can get away with wearing an afro, and _**The Brady Bunch**_ was the shittiest TV sitcom ever produced."

"Hey," counters Dani, "the '70s gave us..."

"Disco. It gave the world disco," spits Randy, "and I will never forgive the miserable decade. We at least had rock 'n roll and fucking Elvis swiveling his hips." Randy rocks his hips a moment. "'Thank you; thank you very much.' The '70s killed him, by the way."

"No, too many fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches and drugs killed him," scoffs Dani.

"That is the fate of all who seek fame: either to wallow in excess and self-pity," says Randy, "or to stew in obscurity and bitter regret."

"What do you think your fate was?" asks Dani.

"A bit of both," says Randy. "Want to track down old man Jackie Fenton and get cozy with him?" he asks.

"W-what!?" Dani stammers.

"I mean, that's why you're sitting in here, frustrated," Randy continues. "If you were in your own room, you could at least rock it to sleep."

"I thought masturbation was forbidden during the '50s," pouts Dani.

"Only for us guys," sneers Randy. "We were doomed to be cursed with hairy palms, our hands would fall off, or even the very thing we were trying to take care of. And we were constantly told 'not without a ring you don't' by Annette Funicello-after the bitch enticed us with that clingy sweater back during her days in the _**Mickey Mouse Club**_."

Dani giggles in spite of herself.

"Our parents had the gall to wonder why the '60s happened...which I completely missed out on," fumes Randy. "By the time I got out of prison, I was in the middle of fucking disco."

"And all Dash was saying," says Dani, "was that you wouldn't have beat a guy to a pulp and wrecked fifteen to twenty years of your life without a good reason."

"He's perceptive like that," admits Randy, "but I'm not telling you or him anything. I've got nothing to say regarding it," he continues tersely, "so drop it."

"But whatever it is," counters Dani, "it's the reason you're hanging around here."

"Maybe I just...want to relive my youth forever," says Randy. "Doing something new each time-something I couldn't do while I was alive: getting old, not able to fit in or know my place in the world because I made a stupid choice and lost twenty years of my life."

"I'm not sure about that," says Dani. "You may not have been able to halt all bullying, but you did help your buddy Miles after he found Sidney's corpse in Locker 724 on the one day he decided not to be a jerk."

"I wish that had never happened," says Randy. "I wish I had spoken out sooner-rather than trying to reason with my friends. But that's not my biggest regret."

"Then what is?" asks Dani.

Randy sighs. "Letting society dictate what was right or wrong, hip or square, when I was young," he says. "I'll see you around, Danielle." He walks out of Jazz's room, phasing through the door. 

* * *

"Jack," says Vlad, smirking down at Jack from the top of the stairs at his castle as the latter hoists a Fenton Ecto-launcher onto his shoulder. "Even presuming I let you kill me, what will that accomplish?"

"How many times have you tried to kill my son?" glowers Jack, seething.

"Once," spits Vlad, "when he had killed my son. Otherwise, I was at first trying to groom him to be my son-as it should have been."

Jack fires a shot near Vlad.

"Ooh, pretty close, Jack," says Vlad as he calmly walks down the stairs. "But you could be wrong."

"No," says Jack. "I'm right. You were attempting to create a clone of Danny Phantom by splicing your DNA with Maddie's. The Phantom's half-ghost, and so he sets off the Fenton ghost alarms." Jack fires again.

"You'll have to pay for the burn marks in my rug," says Vlad.

"Your 'near-successful' cloning attempt also set off the alarms," Jack continues, "and that was after Maddie and I had done other tests to confirm if it were possible to create human-ghost hybrids. I also remembered that you set off the alarms...as did my son."

"Yes, yes; paternal outrage is quite becoming of you, Jack," says Vlad; he runs toward Jack, then disappears in a flash...only to reappear as Plasmius, knocking the Fenton Ecto-launcher out of Jack's hands.

Jack steps back, startled.

"But we both know this isn't about Daniel, don't we?" smirks Vlad, baring his fangs. "Don't we!?" he continues, punching Jack to the ground.

"You still hit like a girl, Vlad old chum," says Jack, rubbing his stinging jaw as he rises to his feet.

"Oh, but how I have longed to do that!" grins Vlad. "Not that I expect to beat you with mere fisticuffs," he continues, firing an ecto-blast from his palms, which Jack scrambles to dodge.

Jack lands in the greenery below the skylight...which ensnares him as it grows.

Vlad floats over to the greenery, now a tree holding Jack hostage; he picks an apple from the tree as he reverts to human form, then takes a bite from the apple. "Poetic, no, Jack?" he says.

"I don't get it," Jack grunts.

"You see," says Vlad as he continues eating the apple, "it was your little father-son chat with Daniel about the Garden of Eden that clued me in about Danielle's whereabouts." 

* * *

"I didn't say _anything_ about Danielle!" spits Jack.

"You didn't have to, Jack," Vlad snaps back. "You said so yourself: my 'problem' is that I'm human...and so are you. You're just a man at the end of the day," he continues, "and everyone wants something that's tantalizing: out of reach. In fact, the word 'tantalize' is derived from-*"

"I went to the same Greek Mythology club you did, Vlad," says Jack. "Make your stupid point."

"The point: yes," says Vlad. "By killing me," he says, "you were hoping to make everyone one big, happy, hazmat-suited Fenton family again! Except we both know that's a lie. There is no return to Eden, Jack," he continues. "Killing the snake won't absolve you of your sins."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" scowls Jack.

"Savoring it," says Vlad, relishing another bite of apple. "Remember when I told you back in college how much I hated the Garden of Eden story?" he asks.

"You could never put your finger on why," mutters Jack.

"It took me _years_ to figure out why," grins Vlad, "and now I know what I hated about it: God punished the snake."

"The snake tempted Adam and Eve," says Jack.

"How, exactly?" counters Vlad. "All that the snake did was point out what was already there-what everyone in the Garden knew was there: the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. The snake called attention to it and basically just made Adam and Eve wonder why they couldn't have it."

"God told them why," says Jack obstinately.

"Ah: '...for on that day thou shalt surely die'. Meanwhile, the snake basically insinuated that God was full of shit," says Vlad.

"Only it turns out God was right: Adam and Eve became mortal and were kicked out of Eden forever," says Jack.

"Which is the price they had to pay for their _choice_," says Vlad. "But what evil did the snake commit? All he did was present the _choice_. He never forced Adam and Eve to make it."

"The snake lied to them," says Jack.

"So what?" scoffs Vlad. "Lie or truth, the _choice_ was the same: eat the forbidden fruit or not."

Jack shakes his head.

"'The woman you gave to me gave the fruit to me, God', 'The serpent beguiled me, God'," Vlad sneers. "The poor snake could only hiss because our so-called biblical ancestors used all of the good excuses to try and hide from the fact that _they_ were the ones who made the _choice_."

Jack grimaces.

"Just as you made the _choice_ one day to tongue-wrestle with a thirteen year-old girl," continues Vlad. "And it felt _good_, didn't it, Jack?"

"It was wrong," says Jack, sullen.

"You knew it was wrong the moment Danielle kissed you," says Vlad, relentless, "but you responded to her curious, youthful overtures anyway. Blowing my head off with an ecto-launcher will not change that fact," he continues. "It won't take away the memory you have of how she tasted, nor will you stop craving more of what she has to offer. I suppose the idea of people making _choices_ hasn't eluded me after all."

Jack stares at his former friend. "What do you want...?" he hisses.

Vlad's eyes widen. "What I want?" he snorts. "It's '_who_ I want', Jack: I. Want. Maddie."

"She isn't mine to give," Jack smirks. "We stopped treating women like chattel some time ago."

"And Maddie Fenton, along with the Green Bay Packers," says Danny, appearing as the Phantom, "is just one of those things you can never have-no matter how much you reach." Danny fires at Vlad, hitting him.

Vlad transforms into Plasmius as he rises to his feet. "How did you get in here!?" he demands. "I had the castle thoroughly secured from you."

"Narf," says Pinky as he frees a bemused Jack by chewing off the vines binding him to the tree. "I am Pinky Phantom!"

"You really should have followed my advice," says Danny as Pinky flies over to him and lands on the Phantom's shoulder, "and bought a cat."

Jack rushes over to Danny; Danny and Pinky touch Jack. Turning intangible with Jack, Danny and Pinky float out of Vlad's castle.

Vlad shakes his fist. "This is _**Kim Possible**_-level bullshit!" he seethes. "And I won't get a fucking cat!" 

* * *

"Are you still leaving?" asks Danny, handing Jack a duffelbag.

Jack nods. "I've got some things to sort out, son," he says as he tosses the duffelbag into a rental van. "I promise," Jack continues, "not to try to go _mono a mono_ with Vlad again...if you promise to be careful."

"You won't be able to hunt after Vlad again," quips Danny, "because Mom locked down the access codes to the FFAV."

Jack gives a mock pout, which turns into a wan smile at a window, where Maddie and Dani bake brownies together.

"You'll beat this, Dad," says Danny. "I know it."

"I have to," says Jack. "I don't want to be on _**To Catch a Predator**_."

Danny starts to speak, but Jack raises his hand.

"Danny," says Jack. "Danielle is trusting me to be the adult. Adults lie."

Danny touches his chin.

"I don't know how many lies I'll be able to tell myself," continues Jack, "but those lies are in service of a greater truth: I love my family. If I have to make myself believe in my own lies to save my family," he says, "then that's what I'll do." He enters the driver's side of the van.

Danny hands Jack a bag of college paraphernalia, listening as Jack mutters the words to a song.

"'One is a genius; the other's insane...'" continues Jack, tossing the bag of paraphernalia onto the passenger seat.

"Which one is which?" asks Danny.

"I don't know," says Jack softly. "Take care of Pinky for me, will you?" he grins as he starts up the van.

Danny backs away from the van as it drives off.


	7. Those meddling kids

**Seven-Year Jock Itch**

byline: _Anubis C. Soundwave_

7. _Those meddling kids..._.

Dash finishes braiding a white daisy into Sam's hair as Sam wakes up.

Sam blinks, noting a gentle smile on Dash's face...and an intense look in his eyes. She stares at Dash, who briefly whipped his head away before replacing the expression with his normal sneer.

"I'm relieved," says Sam after standing to her feet, absently fingering a daisy-twined lock of hair. "For a moment I thought you..." she continues, only to trail off, blushing slightly.

"What?" asks Dash, somewhat belligerent in tone due to his confusion.

Sam shakes herself. "N-nothing. It was nothing..." she snorts.

Dash tenses, concealing a hurt expression. "What do you mean by that!?" he balks. "'It was nothing...'?"

"Forget it!" Sam spits, trembling as she turns her back to Dash to check her watch. "Look, it's getting late," she adds. "I'll head home."

"Okay," says Dash. "I'll walk you home."

"No!" counters Sam. "I'll be fine."

"You're not walking home alone," says Dash, obstinate. "You just said yourself that it's getting late," he continues, "so it'd be stupid for you to walk alone. We have to use the buddy system-not that we're friends or anything, but we sure as hell aren't _enemies_ anymore, right?"

"Dash," says Sam, "I told you-*"

Dash grips Sam's arm. "I don't give a damn what you told me," he spits. "I'm not letting you go off into the night by yourself!"

"Let go of me!" cries Sam, jerking her arm away from Dash.

Randy rushes between Sam and Dash. "Take it easy, kids," he says.

Sam and Dash both glare at the jock ghost.

"What do you two want from me?" says Randy balefully. "I'm the ghost of an old man who assumed the form of his teenage self, remember?"

"Listen, Randy," says Sam, "This is the twenty-first century-*"

Randy cuts Sam off. "I know, I know: you're going to 'take back the night'. Fuck that bullshit!" he spits. "Dash is right: there's no way in hell any sane person would let you walk home on your own, young lady!"

Sam rolls her eyes, then takes Randy's hand and leads him away from Dash. "I assure you," she hisses, "that my reasons for not wanting Dash to walk me home have nothing to do with feminism."

"Oh, I know your reasons," says Randy dismissively, "they're just irrelevant compared to your safety."

"Look at this," says Sam, pulling out a Fenton Thermos. "One more word out of you-one attempt to follow me home," she adds, "and in you go."

"Go ahead," grins Randy.

Dash notes Sam with the Fenton Thermos. "Hey!" he grins as he rushes over. "How long have you had one of those?"

"Being Danny's friend," says Sam, "I always have one handy." She smirks at Randy, who scowls.

"Then why didn't you use it on him when he was making a fool out of me!?" balks Dash.

"Because I didn't think Randy was real," says Sam, "and you're always making a fool out of yourself."

Randy chuckles at Sam's quip in spite of his annoyance. "You have to give her that one, old man," he grins.

"Shut the fuck up, Petersen," snorts Dash.

"Anyway," continues Randy, "I'll take her home, Dash old bean; she has her reasons for not wanting you to come over to her house," he adds, "and they're thankfully not stemming from third-wave feminism-induced stupidity."

"I warned you!" spits Sam, brandishing the Thermos.

Randy grins crudely at Sam. "Do your worst," he says, snapping his fingers.

Sam opens and activates the Thermos...but it fails. "What...the hell...?" she sputters.

Dash shakes his head. "Until he died two years ago, Manson," he says, "Randy was the maintenance guy at Casper High. So one of his ghostly 'be a dick' powers is the ability to fix machines...or break them," he adds wryly.

"A crude summation," says Randy, "but correct."

"I just thought I'd welcome Sammy to my living hell," sneers Dash. "That, Manson," he continues, "was just a taste of the bullshit I've had to put up with from him for three months."

"It's true," says Randy, nodding. "So," he continues with a courtly bow, "please let me escort you home, miss."

"No," counters Sam hotly, turning on her Fenton Phones. "I'll just call my friends, and they'll walk me home. Is that a good _compromise_!?" she adds with a dark look at Dash.

"Deal!" fumes Dash. "Just stick with us until they get here."

Sam calls Tucker on the Phones.

Randy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kids," he hisses. "I know I was this stupid at their age, but still..." 

* * *

Danny and Tucker arrive, noting a scowling daisy-adorned Sam, Dash, and Randy outside Casper High.

Tucker approaches Randy. "I keep seeing you around, man," he says. "I've never met a jock interested in technology."

"It just goes to show that you can't afford to make assumptions in life," says Randy.

Tucker nods. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Randy Petersen," says Randy, smiling blandly at Dash.

Dash rolls his eyes.

"Can we go, guys?" asks Sam, packing away her Thermos. "You know how my parents are."

Danny and Tucker nod; they start to walk away with Sam.

"Hey, Fenton!" says Dash.

Danny sighs as he turns to face Dash.

"You'd better take care of Manson," says Dash. "That's all I have to say to you and Foley."

Danny notes the concern in Dash's voice and eyes. "Always, Dash," he says, taking Sam's hand. He, Sam, and Tucker walk away.

Randy shakes his head. "Dashiell, be serious," he says. "When will you just nut up and tell the girl how you feel so you can go steady?"

"If it were that easy," sneers Dash, "then you wouldn't have died old and alone." Scowling, Dash walks off the grounds of Casper High.

Randy puts his hands in his pockets. "I don't have an answer to that one, either," he says. 

* * *

Danny studies Sam a moment as they stand outside the Manson mansion.

"What are you looking at?" asks Sam, cross.

"I don't know what's going on between you and Dash," says Danny, "but you two need to hash it out."

Sam stares at Danny.

"Whatever it is has to do with that guy Randy," Danny continues. "He's an odd stick."

"You're right about Dash and me hanging out together more because of Randy," says Sam, rolling her eyes, "but it's not what you think."

"You don't know what I think," says Danny, "and I don't know what _to_ think."

Sam steps away from Danny, taken aback.

"The only thing I know is that Dash's goofy idea about my dad being an alpha male responding to a new female throwing off the Fenton family dynamic?" continues Danny, smirking. "He was right. That is a scary thought: and that's coming from someone who's fought Pariah Dark and his own dark side."

"What's your point?" asks Sam.

"That maybe we need to let go of what we think we know," says Danny, smiling. "I'll see you later, Sam." Danny walks off.

Sam touches her chin in thought, then shrugs and enters her mansion. 

* * *

The next day, Tucker heads home from the Amity Park town library, bringing home books for a research paper. "I can't believe that they won't just let me look this information up on _**Wikipedia**_," he says as he trudges past an old woman's house.

The old woman looks up from her gardening. "You can use _**Wikipedia**_ as a starting point," she says, smiling brightly at Tucker, "but your teachers won't accept it as a primary source."

Tucker chuckles. "Hello, Ms. Schumacher," he says wryly.

"Hello, Tucker," says Ms. Schumacher. "How was school?"

"Fine," says Tucker. He notes a worn mailbox with the name PETERSEN on it. "Is this Randy Petersen's house?" asks Tucker.

Ms. Schumacher trembles. "It...was..." she says slowly. "My neighbor Mr. Petersen died two years ago."

"Oh," says Tucker. "I must have met his grandson, then. He plays varsity at Casper High."

"That's not possible," says Ms. Schumacher sharply.

Tucker blinks at Ms. Schumacher. "Why not?" he asks.

"Because Ran-Mr. Petersen," says Ms. Schumacher, tears forming in her eyes, "never had any children: biological or adopted. I...think I'll go inside." Ms. Schumacher takes off her gardening gloves, wipes away a few stray tears, then enters her house.

Tucker sits on the steps of Petersen's house, fiddling with his PDA. "My PDA already has wi-fi," he drawls as he accesses Google, typing in "Casper High" and "Randy Petersen" as search terms.

Randy walks up to Tucker, scowling. "What are you doing at my house?" he demands.

Tucker jumps up, putting his PDA back in his pocket. "Hey, Randy," he grins nervously. "Uh...sorry to hear about your great-uncle, man."

Randy stares at Tucker, confused.

"Ms. Schumacher told me that your namesake who lived here had died," says Tucker.

"And why would you speak to Ms. Schumacher?" asks Randy darkly.

"Dude," says Tucker. "She was my grade school teacher before she retired, and she volunteers at the town library-but you should know this. You're the only guy named Randy Petersen in our school," Tucker continues, scowling as he presents his PDA, "yet there's no record of you at Casper High."

"So your PDA is an internet-enabled smartphone," seethes Randy.

"There was a varsity quarterback named Randy Petersen," says Tucker, scrolling through a Casper High web archive, "but he'd have to be almost seventy years old, because he played for the Ravens during the 1950s."

"He died," says Randy in a flat tone. "He was sixty-eight."

"The thing is," muses Tucker, "that his high school picture looks... Just...like..." Tucker looks Randy over, then pouts. "Dude, you're a ghost, aren't you?"

"Yes," says Randy, annoyed, "and if I were the bullying type of jock, I'd have throttled you by now."

Tucker reaches for his Fenton Thermos.

"Don't bother reaching for it, son," says Randy. "It won't work."

"If you didn't want me to learn the truth," asks Tucker, putting away his Thermos, "then why didn't you disable my PDA?"

"I couldn't for two reasons," says Randy. "One, the damned thing's a handheld computer, and two-as a bully I've met recently has advised me, bullies have _rules_. If I were able to fiddle with the modern-day iteration of DARPANET," Randy fumes, "I would have done so long before now."

"Then what's your history with Ms. Schumacher?" asks Tucker.

"She was a former classmate of mine at school," frowns Randy. "I don't appreciate you distressing her, by the way."

Tucker taps on the Fenton Phones.

Randy snaps his fingers. "Those gaudy earring phones I can disable," he grins. "If you or Eve call or tell the Phantom about me," Randy continues, "I'll have no choice but to break my rules and hurt you. Don't make me do that." Randy walks into his house.

Tucker tries to follow Randy inside. "Great. Of course the door to the haunted house is locked," he spits. "And who the hell is 'Eve'?" Tucker walks away from Petersen's house.

Randy sits on the roof of his house, blowing his whistle. "I've got to get that fucking thing out of Foley's possession," he mutters.

Technus appears. "You have summoned the master-*" he begins.

"Shut up!" spits Randy. "No wonder that gunsel Phantom keeps handing you your ass. I want that PDA the nice but utterly-clueless colored kid has, now."

"These days, they're called African-Americans, or black if you're in a hurry," says Technus.

"I don't give a fuck!" snarls Randy.

"Take it easy," says Technus calmly. "Even if you abscond his PDA," he continues, "Foley will still be able to access the internet through numerous other computers, and the last thing you want to do is draw attention to your activities, correct?" he asks.

"Obviously," says Randy. "Shutting off all online access in Amity Park is not even close to an option."

"Then you will have to resort to a physical altercation with Foley," says Technus coldly.

"Right. I'm supposed to beat the shit out of the Phantom's best friend-which will not only bring the Phantom onto me," says Randy, "but also the wrath of Sidney Poindexter-which I do not want."

"Then what do you want, Randy Petersen?" asks Technus.

Randy sighs, closing his eyes. "Huddle up," he says to Technus. "Here's my game plan." 

* * *

"None of our computer monitors are working," states Mr. Lancer, irritated, over the PA system. "Therefore, all of the computer labs are closed until further notice."

"Great," snorts Danny. "Now I'll never be able to work on my research paper."

"Don't ask me," says Tucker. "My PDA's shot thanks to Technus."

Sam scowls at Randy, who drinks from a milk carton as he sits at a lunch table.

"He didn't do it," Tucker hisses to Sam after making sure Danny was out of earshot. "I take it you already know about him."

"Yep. Dash's jock ghost is the real McCoy," whispers Sam. "Danny can't sense him either, but Dani can."

Tucker nudges Sam; the pair walk out of the cafeteria.

"What is it?" asks Sam.

"What connection do you think Randy would have with Ms. Schumacher?" asks Tucker.

"Our old second-grade teacher?" wonders Sam. "Who knows."

"I get the feeling that if we try to go back and ask her," says Tucker, "Randy might nail me with a beatdown Dash would call excessive."

"Randy was in prison for twenty years for beating up a geek," notes Sam. "However, as a rule, he's not the bullying type."

"True," says Tucker, "but I'm sure he has his limit-and I'm sure it's connected to Ms. Schumacher. Let's leave her alone for now."

Dash overhears Tucker and Sam's conversation. He walks over to Kwan. "Hey, Kwan," he asks, "what are you going to do about your paper?"

"Dude, I don't know," groans Kwan.

"Maybe they have working computer labs at the town library," says Dash. "We'll go after practice."

"Okay," says Kwan. He walks down the hall, heading for the locker room.

"First down, motherfucker," smirks Dash under his breath. "First down. You won't win this one, Mr. Perfect," he adds, looking up at a sepia-toned photo of Randy holding a Heisman trophy. 

* * *

Miles Baxter shakes his head as Dash, Kwan, Paulina, and Star pile into his SUV.

"Okay, Grandpa," grins Dash. "Now pick up Fenton and his geek sidekicks."

"If you insist," snorts Miles. _What the hell is this boy up to?_ he wonders to himself.

The SUV pulls up next to Danny, Tucker, and Sam.

"Dash said that you three need a ride to the town library," says Miles.

"Do we have to ride with them?" whines Star.

"Yeah, we have to ride with them," says Dash.

"It's the bell curve," adds Kwan helpfully. "They'll shift it too far to the right if we leave them on their own."

"Exactly," says Dash. "Soldiering is very important when it comes to our varsity grades."

"Ah, Dash Baxter," sneers Sam, "the great mediocrity enforcer."

"That's right, Manson," says Dash. "Now get in this gas guzzler and underacheive with the rest of us."

"We do need to get to the town library," whispers Tucker.

Sam rolls her eyes. "At least the ride's free," she says. Sam, Danny, and Tucker board the SUV.

Randy runs up to the SUV. "Hey," he says to Miles, "can I hitch a ride?"

"The SUV's filled up with too many hormonal adolescents as it is," says Miles, giving Dash a surreptitious wink.

Dash chuckles softly.

"Sorry, Randall," says Miles as he drives off.

"It's Randolph," says Randy automatically. "Wait..." Randy's eyes widen.

Randy kicks at the ground. "Miles, you cock-sucking son of a bitch!" he roars.

"Mr. Baxter," asks Kwan, faintly hearing Randy's rant, "how does that guy know your first name?"

"This generation is so disrespectful to its elders," says Miles, snickering.

"Second down, Petersen," says Dash under his breath. 

* * *

The SUV arrives at the town library, where Ms. Schumacher stands outside the library, confused.

Miles exits the vehicle with the seven teenagers. "Where the fuck did all of these boxes come from!?" he demands.

"Why would the Box Ghost attack here?" hisses Danny.

Tucker and Sam look to each other.

"Petersen," spits Dash, slamming his fist into his palm.

"Only if he managed to secure the cooperation of the Box Ghost," whispers Tucker.

"I don't put _anything_ past that bastard," says Sam quietly.

"Mr. Baxter," says Ms. Schumacher sternly to Miles, "please refrain from using such language in front of the children. We have to set a positive example."

"This warrants a few expletives, Ms. Schumacher," says Miles wryly.

"At least Dash came by his behavior honestly," says Ms. Schumacher, resigned.

Valerie walks up the steps to the town library and starts grabbing boxes. "I have a paper to write," she spits, flinging away the boxes, "and I'm not letting some stupid ghost get in my way!"

"Valerie has developed such a foul temper," says Ms. Schumacher.

"No, ma'am," grins Dash, "she was always this way."

"Shut up, Dash, and make those show muscles of yours serve a purpose," says Valerie, hiding a smirk.

"Show!?" balks Dash, fuming.

"I guess we have to perform manual labor just to study," sighs Paulina.

"I'd better not break a nail," adds Star.

Danny sighs. "Cover me," he hisses to Tucker and Sam.

Tucker and Sam nod as they stand in front of Danny. Danny transforms and makes himself invisible.

Valerie detects the now-Phantom's presence. "Shit! It's _that one_," she hisses. "I need to make a pit stop," she says aloud, running off.

"Way to make us do all the work, Gray," snorts Dash. 

* * *

"I'm trusting you, ghost," spits Valerie.

"It's about time, Valerie," says the Phantom as he phases in with her.

Valerie scowls at the Phantom. "Let's just find the Box Ghost and make him clear out this crap," she seethes. "I have a damned paper to write!"

The Box Ghost appears. "Beware...fuck this," he scoffs. "What do you want me to do so you and the psychotic ghost hunter don't maim me?"

"I want you to clear out all of this shit!" screams Valerie.

"And I want you to tell me who put you up to this!" adds the Phantom.

"I'll move the boxes," says the Box Ghost, "but I ain't telling you anything. I refuse to divulge any information you need to know." The Box Ghost starts to remove the boxes from the library.

"Then it's Thermos time," says the Phantom, pulling out his Fenton Thermos...which fails to work.

"Doesn't that thing usually work?" wonders Valerie.

"This has been happening a lot lately," mutters the Phantom under his breath. "Someone's clearly calling the shots," he adds aloud to Valerie.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," sneers the Box Ghost. "Your equipment won't work, Phantom."

"Mine will!" says Valerie as she tries to fire an ecto blast from her wrist...except it also fails. "What happened!?" she spits, glaring at the Phantom. "Is this some kind of trap, ghost?"

"Why would I fall for my own trap," snorts the Phantom, "and why would I conspire to set a trap with _him_?" he continues, pointing at the Box Ghost, who attacks the pair with boxes. 

* * *

Outside, Randy grins. "Fumble, Baxter; fumble," he says quietly as he observes the chaos from a park bench across the street.

"Isn't that the Phantom?" asks Paulina, noting the Box Ghost hurling boxes at the Phantom and Valerie.

"I take it this is another ghost haunting in this city," pouts Ms. Schumacher.

Miles nods. "This is getting annoying, though," he says. "Why would ghosts want to stop kids from studying?"

"Miles can be such a shithead sometimes," says Randy. "I'll have to get him and Paula out of harm's way before the Phantom cuts loose." Randy enters the SUV and drives it away from the library.

Miles notes the SUV. "That punk is stealing my wheels!" he spits.

"That boy looked like Randy..." muses Ms. Schumacher.

Tucker notes a warning signal on his Phantom Indicator. _Randy's trying to protect Ms. Schumacher...and Mr. Baxter._ "We should try to get out of here," he says to the group. "That kid just wanted to get us out of harm's way."

"Then he should have told us all to get in the car!" spits Star.

Randy pulls the SUV back, then opens the door. "Ladies first," he smiles, bowing to Ms. Schumacher.

"You're such a polite young man," says Ms. Schumacher as she boards the SUV. The teens follow Ms. Schumacher inside.

Miles starts to open the driver's side door, but Randy slowly drives off. "Oh, I'm sorry, Edward," he quips. "There just isn't enough room."

"Nice try, Petersen," hisses Dash, "but you know you can't steal my grandfather's SUV. Still second down."

Scowling, Randy stops the vehicle.

"Scoot over, young man," adds Miles, giving Randy a crude grin.

"Those two are definitely related," whispers Sam to Tucker.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Baxter," says Randy curtly, "I have something I need to take care of. Please drive Ms. Schumacher home safely." Randy exits the SUV, heading to the library. 

* * *

The Phantom grips Valerie's wrist as she prepares to psionically punch the Box Ghost. "Okay," he says. "I don't want you to be obliterated by her, because you're a pretty weaksauce ghost, but if you don't tell me who put you up to this," continues the Phantom, "then I'll have no choice."

"You shall do no such thing!" counters Technus.

"You did _not_ put the Box Ghost up to this crap," snorts the Phantom.

"Is that what you believe?" asks Technus, smirking. "Know that I have the power to short-circuit and control your partner's suit."

"We are not partners," spits Valerie.

"It does not matter," says Technus. "Now you will know the wrath of-ah!" Technus abruptly collapses...

...as Dani Phantom arrives on the scene.

"There are two of you!?" balks Valerie.

"You're welcome, Valerie Gray," says Dani Phantom.

"How do you two know my name!?" demands Valerie. "I want answers!"

The Box Ghost floats upright. "Beware!" he says. "I am...a sad, pitiful excuse for a ghost," he sobs, trembling as Dani Phantom bares her fangs.

"Hie thee back to the Ghost Zone!" orders Dani Phantom.

"Yes, miss," the Box Ghost whimpers. He obeys and leaves the library.

"Wait!" says the Phantom. "Who's your ringleader!?"

"Leave the Box Ghost alone," says Dani Phantom. "We'll see the _real_ brains behind all of this soon enough."

"You're damned right you will," glowers Randy as he enters the library. "Get out of this library, or else."

"Or else what: you're going to throw footballs at me?" asks the Phantom.

Randy trembles a moment, then suddenly throttles the Phantom, gripping the halfa by the neck with inhuman strength. "Listen to me, you insipid, entitled little gunsel," he seethes. "I will not have you stand in my way. I have someone I must protect-someone I gave my life to protect-and I will not allow you or those kids outside to do anything to destroy her."

"You...you're real. You're fucking real," says the Phantom. "You're the ghost that was haunting Dash."

"Precisely," says Randy. "I was hoping to string you along for a bit more," he continues, "but Dashiell Miles Baxter's brilliant tactical move of endangering his own grandfather to break past me has regrettably forced my hand. Now, leave," Randy orders as he gently sets the Phantom down.

"Why should we?" spits Valerie.

Randy snaps his fingers, causing Valerie's suit to break off in pieces. "That's why. Get out," he demands.

"Randy, we're trying to help you!" says Dani.

"I understand that, Danielle Phantom," says Randy quietly, "but I want Ms. Schumacher left out of your investigation. She can't help you. Now. Get. Out."

"For now," says the Phantom, "let's do as he says. We need to talk," he adds, glaring at Dani Phantom.

Dani Phantom nods.

"And we still need your help, Miss Gray," continues the Phantom soberly.

"Why should I help you?" asks Valerie.

"The sooner you help us solve this mystery," says the Phantom, "the sooner Amity Park's computer systems will be back up and running, and you can finish that paper."

"...fine," scowls Valerie.

"Let's leave for now," says the Phantom. He and Dani Phantom grab Valerie and fly off.

Randy sinks to his knees. "I know I'm not making it easy for them-or for me," he says. "But I can't let her suffer. I won't let her suffer," Randy continues, "even if that means I can never be free."

Randy rises to his feet and blows the whistle.

Technus stirs. "You will have to use different tactics if you plan to defeat Danny Phantom," he says.

"I have no interest in defeating him," he says. "Get the computers and monitors running again," he continues, "but block all information related to myself, Paula Schumacher, and Julian Carlisle from the time period of 1957 to 1977."

"As you wish," says Technus.

Randy sighs. "We have to punt, Baxter," he says quietly. 

* * *

Atop the roof of Casper High, Danny Phantom stands next to the Phantom Signal. "Now, Dash," he says. "If you were being relentlessly tormented by Randy Petersen for months, then why didn't you light the Signal?"

Sam starts to slap her forehead.

"Don't take cues from Homer Simpson yet, Manson," says Dash. He turns on the switch to power the massive floodlight...only for it to fail.

The Phantom stares at the inert Signal. "...this guy is an asshole!" he spits.

"Most definitely," say Tucker, Dani, and Sam.

"Why was I the last to know any of this?" demands the Phantom, asking Dash, but looking at Dani, Sam, and Tucker. "I should have been the first one you called for help."

"With all due respect," says Dash, "I didn't think the ghost of a high school jock was worthy of your time. All I had initially wanted was to get a hold of the Fenton Gauntlets so I could pummel the guy."

"So you thought to seek help from Danny Fenton-the one person who would not trust you under any circumstances," says the Phantom wryly.

"You can see how desperate I was," says Dash, "and now you see for yourself why!" he adds, pointing to the Signal.

"No one believed Dash," says Sam, "because Petersen has this way of thinking three steps ahead of him-and anyone, to be fair."

"He has serious pull in the Ghost Zone," says the Phantom, "to be able to summon ghosts with a sports whistle." _That had to be why that ghost was running from me that day,_ Danny muses, _when Dash was ready to maul me. This Petersen guy set me up for the mother of all Dash beatings. I'm just amazed Dash didn't take the bait._

_But why did Dash want to maul me?_ Danny wonders. _It wasn't his usual bullying; he really wanted me dead._

"Petersen was popular in his day," says Dash, "and a lot of people admired him. Maybe he carried that same charisma with him when he died and went to the Ghost Zone."

"That makes sense with what we know so far," says Dani.

"What is Petersen's end goal?" wonders the Phantom.

"To escape the Ghost Zone and go to a real afterlife," says Dash.

"That would be presuming that the Ghost Zone _isn't_ the real afterlife," says the Phantom curtly.

"Think about it from Petersen's point of view," says Sam. "This is a guy from the 1950s: God, country, hot dogs, and apple pie. "He's expecting to enter either the Pearly Gates or a burning hell-complete with horned red imps holding pitchforks."

"Randy's smarter than that," says Dani. "I'm sure he allowed room for reincarnation or simply ceasing to exist."

The Phantom sighs. "What does any of this have to do with you?" he asks Dash.

"Before," says Dash, "he was needling us to be where he needed us. He's a quarterback channeling his inner offensive coordinator," he snorts.

"But now he's trying to shut us down," says Dani.

"It's connected to Ms. Schumacher somehow," says Sam. "Petersen was thrown in prison for aggravated assault and battery for twenty years," she continues, "which pretty much killed his football career before it got started."

"Why?" asks the Phantom.

"Petersen says that he just felt like it that day," says Dash, "but I know he's lying."

"How do you know?" asks the Phantom tersely. "What proof do you have?"

Dash sighs. "Could you take me inside the school halls," he asks, "near the principal's office?"

The Phantom studies Dash a moment, then nods. He grabs Dash and both phase into the school building. 

* * *

At his castle in Wisconsin, Vlad glowers in irritation as the carpet cleaners finish their repairs to his carpet. "A halfa-mouse," he mutters. "It's as though Ghostwriter is hacking together shoddy fan fiction. That had to be the worst _deus ex machina_ I've ever seen."

A thin, elderly man enters the castle foyer with two burly bodyguards.

"My castle is closed to visitors," says Vlad tiredly, "and is generally only open by appointment."

"I always have an appointment, Vladimir," says the elderly man coldly.

Vlad's eyes widen. "C-councilman Carlisle," he says, rising from his perch on the stairs to greet Carlisle. "What brings you to Madison from Amity Park?"

"A proposition," says Carlisle. He sends his bodyguards outside. "I need you to kill a few high school students for me."

"W-why!?" sputters Vlad. "Why would I do something like that!? Do you have any idea what I would stand to lose?"

"I will make it worth your while," says Carlisle coolly, "if you could arrange to have Plasmius attack Casper High School and kill the students on this list," he says, handing Vlad a document, "along with a few others at random to make it look good-like a meaningless attack of terror."

Vlad peruses the list. "What makes you think that I am in contact with this Plasmius ghost?" he asks as he hands Carlisle the list.

Carlisle gives Vlad a nasty smile. "Because you _are_ Plasmius, you Hammer horror movie fanboy," he sneers. "Don't try to shit me. You couldn't even shit Jack Fenton, and that man is a lummox. 

"You won't get any argument from me about Jack being a lummox," scoffs Vlad, glaring at his ecto-enhanced apple tree, "but even allowing your presumption, why would Plasmius waste precious energy attacking a high school and killing children?"

"Because I told you to," spits Carlisle.

"Why the hell would I do what you say?" says Vlad.

"Because I know how you began your wealth," spits Carlisle. "Your entire life is a lie financed by theft," he continues, "and without that lie, you would be nothing more than an ecto-acne pock-marked little freak, pining for that hayseed from Arkansas."

"Presuming that I am Plasmius," says Vlad, "I would be able to kill you with a thought."

"And if you kill me," says Carlisle, "my executors have been authorized to release sealed records upon my death that will destroy you." Carlisle cackles. "I picked you, Vladimir," he continues, "because I knew that I'd own you."

"I beg your pardon?" asks Vlad.

"You know exactly what I mean," says Carlisle. "Did you think I would sink venture capital into your little startup without getting a return on my investment?" he asks. "I've come to collect."

Vlad transforms into Plasmius. "I am not wasting my power to act as your supernatural hitman," he spits, "especially not on such prime targets as Dash Baxter, Samantha Manson, or Tucker Foley."

"Don't forget the three Fenton brats," says Carlisle. "I can have my men take care of Jack, and then you can finally woo the fuck out of Dr. Madeline."

"You corrupt little cretin!" snarls Vlad. "Do you honestly think I'm that easily _bought_!?"

"It's insulting, I know," says Carlisle, "but it's also the truth, Vladimir: you are an easy lay."

Vlad seethes at Carlisle.

"Those meddling kids are putting their noses where they don't belong," says Carlisle, "and they have to pay the price."

"'Meddling kids', Julian?" snorts Vlad. "What is this: a bad episode of _**Scooby Doo**_?"

"The criminals on that idiotic show _would_ have gotten away with their schemes if they had thought to kill the brats first-and their stupid dog, too," says Carlisle.

Vlad shudders in disgust. "Give me the fucking list," he says.

Carlisle smirks. 

* * *

The Phantom and Dash arrive at their destination within the halls of Casper High.

"You see, Phantom..." says Dash, an obstinate scowl on his face, "in order to explain why I'm right, I need visual aids."

The Phantom watches as Dash gently touches the glass display case near Principal Ishikawa's office, the light of the full moon acting as a natural stage spotlight.

"Three," continues Dash, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Three?" wonders the Phantom.

"Three Heisman trophies!" declares Dash. "All earned by one player."

The Phantom, still floating, eases back.

Dash continues. "You're considered top-level talent if you earn _one_," he says. "Randolph Petersen earned three: one for each year he was in varsity."

"So?" asks the Phantom.

"'So!?'" balks Dash. "That's incredible!"

"I...hate to sound heartless," says the Phantom coldly, "but at the end of the day, Dash, it's just a game."

Dash snickers. "Yeah," he sneers. "'It's just a game' that pays our school's bills. 'It's just a game' that strengthens the ties of our community. Football: a sport which when played at the professional level, has its own unofficial national holiday...to your average, uninspired geek," spits Dash, seething, "it's just a fucking game."

"It...is..." says the Phantom, astonished by Dash's fury.

"Yeah," continues Dash. "'Game'. The word sounds trivial, doesn't it?" he asks.

The Phantom nods.

"Calling sports like football or basketball 'games', where you're just 'throwing a ball around', is-to serious athletes-like calling the Apollo mission 'shooting bottle rockets'. It's like saying Baby Jesus' crucifixion was just bad frat hazing."

"'Baby Jesus...'" mutters the Phantom. _Dash's grandfather is a bad influence on him,_ Danny says to himself.

"But I don't blame the geeks," says Dash, shrugging. "They're right to feel that way."

"What...?" asks the Phantom, staring at Dash.

"The geeks didn't trivialize sports," continues Dash, a bitter smile on his face. "We did. Or, to be precise," he adds, "jerkasses like me did."

"I don't get it," says the Phantom.

"'Those amateur athletes among us who abuse their God-given physical prowess to oppress the weaker-bodied,'" says Dash, "'do a grave disservice to the game we love; they are a disgrace to the sport, and are no friends of mine'." He grins crudely at the Phantom. "That was 'Mr. Perfect's' own words, dedicated to the memory of Sidney Poindexter. That was why Petersen felt justified in tormenting me," continues Dash. "I am the living embodiment of everything that's taking a _steaming dump_ on the sport he loves." 

* * *

"So...?" says the Phantom.

"Petersen's...not _me_," says Dash, pointing to a vintage honor roll wall. "Do you know what it takes to consistently make the honor roll and earn three Heismans?" he asks. "The inhuman work ethic? Do you honestly think," Dash continues, "that Petersen would piss all of that work away because he just 'felt like it'!?"

"Nobody knows what he was thinking that day," says the Phantom. "Maybe he snapped. Maybe all of the pressure of being 'Mr. Perfect'-trying to honor everyone's expectations-just broke him."

"And one poor, innocent little '50-era geek just happened to be on the receiving end of Petersen's bad day," Dash sneers. "I don't buy it," he adds quietly.

"Why don't you buy it?" scoffs the Phantom. "I happen to know of several geeks who have been on the receiving end of _your_ bad days."

"You're talking about nice nerds like Danny Fenton and Tucker Foley, Phantom," says Dash. "I freely plead guilty to being the bad guy. Foley is harmlessly annoying and clueless, while Fenton...is an oblivious yet insurmountable waist-high fence standing between me and what I want."

The Phantom quirks an eyebrow.

"Of course, when Jazz wanted to play psychologist with me, and asked me to write down these feelings in a journal that she would read-to help me quit picking on her baby brother by addressing my 'anger management' issues," continues Dash, "my atrocious spelling of words I know damned well how to use in sentences rendered that impossible!"

_So: the reason Dash is an asshole is because he's too insecure to just buy a fucking dictionary,_ snorts Danny mentally as he continues listening to Dash.

"But I bet that you probably think I'm just blaming the victim, huh?" says Dash.

"Yep," says the Phantom. "Petersen mauled that guy. He could have killed him."

"True," says Dash, "but Petersen also beat the shit out of Miles Edward Baxter. Surely you don't think _he_ was some poor, physically-inept nerd when he was a kid?"

_Your 'grandpa' was one of Sidney Poindexter's worst enemies,_ muses Danny ruefully, recalling a black-and-white photo at Miles' house of a teenaged Miles in a black leather jacket and jeans...and also remembering that the astral projection of the same fellow had shoved Danny-as-Sidney in a locker when Sidney had forced Danny to switch bodies with him.

Dash grins cannily at the Phantom.

"No," says the Phantom aloud, returning the grin. "I can't honestly say that."

"Then it's reasonable to know the type of person the victim was without necessarily blaming him, don't you think?" asks Dash.

"You are such a lawyer!" pouts the Phantom.

"My mom's a senior partner in her family's law firm," says Dash. "I think if she had been Petersen's defense attorney," he adds, "she could have gotten him off."

"_Perry Mason_ couldn't have saved Petersen," scoffs the Phantom, rolling his eyes.

"Because Mason would have been found in contempt of court when he tried to extract confessions from the poor fools on the witness stand to save his clients from the death penalty," says Dash. "Mom has a love-hate relationship with that show."

The Phantom turns around, stifling a snicker as he remembers Randy laughing as Dash's mother, Lindsay, raged at a _**Perry Mason**_ episode.

"Anyway," continues Dash, "the victim was Councilman Julian Carlisle, who my grandfather hates with the fury of a thousand suns."

"Dash," says the Phantom, "Mr. Baxter is a sixty-nine year-old crank who hates almost _everyone_ with the fury of a thousand suns. You'll have to be specific."

"Grandpa said that Sidney Poindexter was the type of geek you didn't have any real hard feelings for," says Dash. "You just gave guys like Poindexter a noogie or slammed him into a locker to pass the time. Carlisle, on the other hand," Dash continues, "was this unctuous rich kid with a smirk on his face that was begging to make hot, sticky love to a bully's knuckles."

"You have a penchant for sick metaphors, don't you, Dash?" says the Phantom, grinning in spite of himself.

"Look at that picture," says Dash, pointing to a picture of a teenaged Carlisle sneering for a school photo, "and tell me that face has not earned my fist."

"Carlisle's face didn't deserve to be rearranged by Petersen simply because he looked like a smug cockhat," says the Phantom.

"And Petersen's too smart to give in to that basic urge," says Dash, "otherwise, Carlisle's face would have been a fist-shaped crater in that photo."

"What is your point, Dash?" asks the Phantom. "That the kid who grew up to become a city councilman deserved to have his face pounded like cheap beefsteak by 'Mr. Perfect's' fists?"

"Yes," says Dash.

"Why?" asks the Phantom.

"Because Petersen only got into two physical altercations in high school. One was with my grandpa," says Dash, "and one was with Carlisle. My grandfather, bless his heart, clearly did something to deserve his beating," Dash continues, "and I maintain that Carlisle did something to merit the same from Petersen."

"What makes you say that?" asks the Phantom. _I'm asking this goon a lot of questions,_ balks Danny silently.

"Once is coincidence," says Dash. "Twice is a pattern. We have to find the common thread between these beatdowns."

"And you've already found it," says the Phantom.

"Her name," says Dash softly, looking at a photo of Randy standing with a pretty, demure teenage girl, "is Paula Schumacher." 

* * *

In disguise, Vlad sits in the school auditorium at Casper High, observing as the students boredly listen to a teacher drone on about the vital importance of a standardized test.

Vlad notes as Dash throws a wad of paper in Sam's direction, hitting her head with the paper projectile. Annoyed, Sam scrutinizes the wad of paper, opens the paper up, studies it a moment, then blushes.

Squaring her shoulders as the red in her cheeks fades, Sam tears the unwadded sheet of paper into pieces. Dash gives Sam an arrogant smile.

_High school can be so stupid and boring,_ says Vlad sullenly to himself. _Killing the students here is an insult to my abilities...and yet, I've got to do it._

Vlad stands, preparing to transform and slay the teenagers on his hit list, starting with Danny, who stares blearily at the light fixtures as he silently wishes for the teacher to end this pointless lecture.

_I can fill myself with blind rage towards Daniel, and direct that at them all,_ muses Vlad. "It's so idiotically easy," he hisses aloud. "Just kill everyone in this room."

Dani, sitting on the front row, trembles as her ghost sense goes off. She looks up the aisle and notes Vlad standing, his spectral aura visible even in human form.

Vlad locks his eyes onto Dani's own. "I'll...I..." he hisses inaudibly, only to grow silent. "I can't do it," he spits, scowling in disgust as he looks away from Dani. "I won't."

Vlad leaves the auditorium, glowering.

_Did we...just escape certain death...?_ wonders Dani. 

* * *

Jack, lying on a bed inside a cabin in boxers and a T-shirt, wakes to the sound of rain and an opening door.

Vlad stands in the cabin foyer. "Jack?" he groans. "Why are you in the Loser Cabin?"

"Isn't this where losers belong, Vlad?" asks Jack tonelessly.

"You're not a loser, Jack," says Vlad. "I can't believe you drove all the way to upstate New York to lie around in a dilapidated, mosquito-infested log cabin in your underwear."

"So why are _you_ here?" says Jack.

Vlad gives Jack a wry grin. "Because that's my spot. If you're not going to leave," he says, "then at least move over."

Bemused, Jack shakes his head as he complies.

The two former friends stare at the anemic wooden ceiling fan for several minutes.

"We're still not friends, you know," says Jack.

"Of course not," scoffs Vlad. "I crossed a line between us, something I had resolved to do a long time ago, because I'm a selfish bastard."

"Something I could live with," says Jack, "if you hadn't crossed that line."

"I know. I threatened your family. I will continue to be a threat to your family," says Vlad. "However," he continues, handing Jack his hit list from Carlisle, "our enmity will be on my own terms."

Jack sits up; he stares at the list, printed neatly in Times New Roman, in disbelief.

"I refuse to be reduced to an otherworldy killer for that slimy old worm," Vlad sneers.

"Who is this 'slimy old worm' that wanted you to kill my children?" asks Jack.

"Julian Carlisle," says Vlad. "I killed the hitmen he sent here to kill you, by the way-their corpses are outside. The only reason no one in Amity Park is reading about Carlisle's death in the local paper is that he does, admittedly, have me by the balls."

"Okay," says Jack. "I know that Carlisle sent the hitmen after me as part of his attempt to pay you off. He clearly failed to factor in how huge your ego is," Jack continues, smiling, "and the fact that you do have a conscience."

"Indeed," spits Vlad. "Do you know why I hate you, Jack?"

"Because I married the woman you've lusted after since college?" asks Jack.

"No; that's just why I want to kill you. I hate you, Jack," says Vlad, "because while most people's consciences are basically like you see in old cartoons: diminutive angel and demon versions of themselves; my demon demiurge looks like me, all right, but my angelic conscience looks like you."

"I'm not even close to being a saint," snorts Jack, scowling obstinately.

"Quit moping in here, you lummox," says Vlad. "You're so pure-hearted that it makes you obnoxiously easy to tweak. I guarantee you, Jack," Vlad continues, "that giving my cloned teenage girl her first adult kiss does not put you in the same category as Roman Polanski!"

"Do you honestly believe I wanted to stop there?" asks Jack tersely.

"No, because you're a man with normal urges," says Vlad, "who has slammed face-first into the brick wall of moral ambiguity."

"Oh, wait," Jack snorts, "I forget that you're the guy who wrote a term paper defending Humbert Humbert in _**Lolita**_."

"I got an A on that paper," says Vlad, smug.

"Look," says Jack, "let's just work on getting your balls out of Carlisle's grip and my kids out of his gun sights."

Vlad stares at Jack. "Why would you bother to help me?" he asks.

"Same as you," says Jack. "'Our enmity will be on my terms'. Keep this thing clear and distinct between us, you get it?"

"Most emphatically, Jack," grins Vlad. 

* * *

On the steps outside Dash's house, Sam reads a vintage news article detailing Randy's assault on Carlisle.

Lindsay steps out, sitting next to Sam. She glances at the paper. "I honestly think Randy needed a better lawyer," she says.

"I take it you're signing onto your son's theory, Mrs. Baxter?" asks Sam wryly.

"I always side with my son when I'm in defense attorney mode," says Lindsay. "And in this case, there aren't any holes."

"Ms. Schumacher, as a teenager, was threatened in some way," says Sam, "and Randy-that is to say, Mr. Petersen-had defended her by beating Carlisle's face to a bloody pulp. If that were the case," she asks, "why wouldn't Mr. Petersen have said so?"

Lindsay sighs. "Because of the scene of the crime," she says. "It was the Point."

Sam stares at Lindsay.

"If, as I suspect, Ms. Schumacher was being assaulted by Carlisle at that time," continues Lindsay, "that would be the only reason Mr. Petersen would have gone to such lengths to beat the shit out of him."

"But why wouldn't Mr. Petersen simply have said: 'that rotten little gunsel was raping Paula' to exonerate himself and save his career?" asks Sam. "No jury would convict a kid who was stopping something like that-especially a hometown hero like Mr. Petersen was back then."

Dash, unnoticed, opens the door and stands in the doorway.

"That's just it, Sammy: it was 'back then'," says Lindsay. "It took 1960s bra-burning and decades of beating the mantra of 'no means _no_' into generations of thick male skulls," she continues with a quirk of her lips as she notes Dash, "to get us to the point where a rape would be reported."

"Somehow," says Sam, "I don't think Ms. Schumacher was ever the type of girl who could have the retarded reputation of 'asking for it'."

"You're right," says Lindsay. "She was very demure as a young woman. But the question would still be asked: 'what was she doing at the Point but what all teenagers did at the Point during prom night?'"

"And rather than put Ms. Schumacher through that bullshit," says Dash, "Petersen took the late hit and kept his mouth shut until he died." _Only for the asshole to haunt __me__, a guy who has, at best, only a tangential link to any of this 1950s crap,_ muses Dash ruefully as he gives Sam a grin.

"There are only two ways we'll be able to prove it at this point," says Sam. "Either get Ms. Schumacher to come forward and let us know what really happened..."

_No chance in hell that Petersen will let us try to convince her to do that,_ says Dash to himself.

"Or," continues Sam, "extract a confession from Carlisle by getting him to incriminate himself."

"Which only works in cartoons and on _**Perry Mason**_," says Lindsay. "Carlisle will not incriminate himself. He's a city councilman running for the US Senate," she continues, "and as much as I'd like to destroy him if this is true-and I think it's true-we can't hope that he'd be as stupid as a _**Scooby Doo**_ villain."

"If he's that smart," scoffs Sam as she closes the paper, "he'd try to kill us meddling kids first."

Lindsay takes the paper back. "I'll have to give this back to Miles," she says as she starts to enter the house. "You two behave yourselves."

"What's that supposed to mean!?" balk Sam and Dash in unison.

Lindsay suppresses a giggle, then touches Dash's shoulder. "You and she need to talk," she whispers to Dash, then enters the house.

Dash looks down at Sam a moment; he then gulps air, squares his shoulders, and sits down next to Sam.

Sam trembles, then rubs her arms.

Dash places an arm around Sam's shoulders and draws her to his side. "You know why Grieseman sucks?" he asks, a thin smile on his face.

"I'm not a jock," says Sam, pouting as she blushes, "so I don't know."

"Aside from the fact that he chokes under pressure," says Dash, "Grieseman sends mixed signals."

Sam sighs as she leans onto Dash. "You'll have to forgive me," she says, "if I don't always grok your metaphors."

The pair of teenagers sit together in silence. 

* * *

Danny and Dani arrive at a lit Phantom Signal near the Amity Park Police Department.

"There's no one here," says Danny. "This could be a trap."

"Not by Randy, I hope," says Dani. "I don't think we can compete against a guy who can summon most of the Ghost Zone after us."

"No, Danielle," says a voice. "Not 'Randy'."

Both Danny and Dani tremble a moment as their ghost senses trigger.

Danny sighs as he and Dani revert to normal. "I'm relieved to see that you've returned to form, Vlad," he says. "Plotting to attack a school auditorium to get to me was just sad and out of character."

"You think, Daniel?" sneers Vlad as he makes himself visible. "Quite frankly, I don't hate you enough to gin up the required outrage to pull off such a stupid ploy."

Danny stares at Vlad, confused.

"Oh, I tried," continues Vlad, "I really did. But in the end, I think I'd rather know the reason an idiot decided to blackmail me into being his hired spectral gun."

"Whoever he is," says Dani, "he knows your secrets."

"Julian Carlisle," say Danny and Vlad in unison.

Vlad steps back in shock. "How did _you_ know?" he asks, astonished.

"Because our little investigative team is getting too close to the truth," says Danny, "and Carlisle doesn't want to take the chance that we'd stumble onto proof."

"In other words," says Vlad in disbelief, "Carlisle really _is_ a genre savvy _**Scooby Doo**_ villain. Who exactly is the Fred Jones of your groovy _Mystery Machine_, Daniel?" he asks.

"Dash Baxter," says Danny wryly. "And considering that this started in Amity Park, this is more like the _**Scooby Doo**_ cartoon movies than the old cartoon shows."

"Yeah," adds Dani, rolling her eyes. "The ghosts are real, but only one of them has anything to do with the case."

"And I take it," says Vlad, "that 'Randy' is the ghost at the center of this mystery."

Danny and Dani nod. 

* * *

"Party at Poindexter's! Party at Poindexter's!" crows Dash as he continues bouncing Danny over his shoulders.

"Is this really necessary, clyde?" asks Danny wryly with a passable Sidney impression.

"Authenticity, Fenton," says Dash as he sets Danny down, then preens in his black leather jacket.

_It's not his fault,_ muses Danny to himself, ruefully grinning as he adjusts his costume glasses and Sidney Poindexter outfit. _Dash doesn't know this would be the __second__ time I've had to be Sidney Poindexter._

"I hope he's got some good music," sneers Star, wearing a white Casper High sweater and a vintage poodle skirt.

"You're asking too much of Poindexter," grins Dash. "He might have some big band records from last decade if we're lucky."

Danny unlocks the door to Poindexter's house. "Welcome," he sighs. "The people I actually _invited_ to be here may enter first."

Kwan, in a vintage Casper High letterman jacket, white T-shirt, khakis and loafers, holds Dash back. "Be a good bean, Miles," he says, "it's only fair. After you, Paula," Kwan continues, bowing to Jazz as she enters.

Jazz smiles shyly, smoothing a plain brown skirt, then enters the house. Kwan follows after, then Danny, Dash, Star, and Sam: dressed as a beatnik in a faded lavender sweater and black jeans.

Paulina pouts. "I wanted to dress up, too!" she says.

Dani rolls her eyes.

"While this party happened after _Brown v. the Board of Education_," says Valerie, "the one black kid at Casper High during that time was so annoying that he got kicked out."

"That was because great-uncle Gino was a religious nutcase," says Tucker, wearing a constipated scowl on his face as he impersonated his late great uncle. "Poindexter had petitioned the county school board because _he_ was an atheist who argued that his First Amendment rights were being violated," Tucker continues, returning his voice to normal, "whenever Gino derailed classes and teachers had to address Gino's retarded understanding of Christianity."

"Dr. King and the NAACP had all trailed here from Alabama to hear Gino Jennings Foley speak before the school and determine if Casper High-a school in the North-was just trying to duck _Brown_ and stay lily-white," says Valerie. "Once Gino opened his mouth, all doubt was silenced; Dr. King apologized on behalf of the black community and promised to send Casper High non-idiots immediately."

"I think it was the Oneness Pentecostal Unitarianism that did it for Dr. King," says Tucker. "That said, all of Gino's religiosity couldn't hide the fact that he was a closeted gay black man who died of AIDS in 1997."

"No need to be so historically accurate, though," says Paulina, rolling her eyes as she enters. Tucker, Dani, and Valerie follow her in, and Tucker locks the door. 

* * *

Danny spins the bottle. The bottle opening stops at Sam, with the base pointing at Dash.

"That's weird," says Danny, still in character as Sidney. "This is the fourth time this has occurred."

"As cute as the little beatnik is," says Dash with a sly look to Sam, "she's already steady with some Jew named Manson from Amity Prep."

"Samuel's a nice guy," says Sam, mentioning her grandmother's late husband.

"Yeah," says Dash, tongue-in-cheek, "but he killed Baby Jesus."

"No, Baxter," counters Sam in like tone, "if you actually read your _King James Bible_ instead of listening to anti-Semitic mythology, then you and your ancestors would have long realized that the Romans were the ones who killed 'Baby Jesus'. We would not have killed a heretical Jew by crucifixion."

"Let's try this one more time," says Danny, rolling his eyes. He spins the bottle again.

The bottle spins, then stops...standing straight up.

The teenagers stare at the bottle in disbelief.

Danny trembles a moment, then scowls as he opens his gray eyes. "Randy," he spits. "Cut this out; you're being a real heel."

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Kwan with a smug grin on his face.

"The heck you don't, buster brown!" counters Danny, stomping his feet.

Dani sneaks up to Sam. "Danny and Kwan have both been overshadowed," she whispers.

"I kind of gathered that when Danny's Sidney impersonation suddenly _improved_," smirks Sam.

"It's not good manners to prank your host, Randy," says Jazz, elbowing Kwan to activate the hidden Specter Deflector.

Kwan snaps his fingers, and the Specter Deflector fails.

"Petersen's here, all right," mutters Tucker.

"Come on, Randy," says Danny, "be serious. You and I both know how this spin went down."

"How?" asks Kwan. "The bottle spins randomly," he continues, "though I will admit that I'm poking a little fun at Dashiell and Eve."

Dash stares at Kwan. "Get out of Kwan, Petersen!" he demands.

"All right, all right," says Kwan.

Randy phases out of Kwan, appearing to the teenagers as himself.

"Petersen's a ghost!?" balk Star and Paulina.

"Yep," grins Dash. "Told you guys I wasn't crazy."

"I went on a date with a ghost..." says Star nervously before she faints.

"She was a more interesting date than her grandmother," says Randy. He turns to Danny, still overshadowed by Sidney. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I know the outcome of this spin," says Danny-Sidney, "because I had rigged the game."

Randy's eyes widen. 

* * *

"You and Paula cared so much about each other," Danny-Sidney continues. "I...had just wanted to help you two break the ice. But then Leather Jacket and the rest of the gang came to the party, too," he adds, jerking his thumb at Dash. "That's when I decided to have everyone play 'Spin the Bottle'."

"You set a motor to control the bottle to make sure nobody else got to spend 'Seven Minutes" with either of us," says Randy.

Danny-Sidney nods.

"But...why? Why not just set us up on a blind date?" wonders Randy.

"Check the date, clyde," scowls Danny-Sidney.

Randy scratches his head.

Jazz's eyes widen. "It's about two weeks before..." she gasps.

"Correct," says Sidney as he phases out of Danny. "I wanted to make sure one thing went right in this world," he continues, taking off his glasses, "before I blew this joint."

Danny trembles as he regains control of himself. "What just happened?" he asks.

"You and Kwan were overshadowed by ghosts, Fenton," says Dash, nodding towards Sidney and Randy.

Danny pouts at Sidney.

Randy winces. "It didn't work...the way you thought it would have," he says, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Of course it didn't," says Sidney. "Neither of you would just spit it out afterwards," he continues, "because you were just as clueless about reconciling your own feelings versus people's expectations back then as Dash is now."

"Hold the phone!" balks Dash. "I don't have a damn thing to do with this 1950s sock hop soap opera. My only connection to this shit, Poindexter," Dash continues, "is my grandfather-and he was only the bully that made your life a living hell."

Sidney shakes his head. "It's true that Leather Jacket didn't improve matters with regard to my life, but at the end of the day," he shrugs, "he was just your standard rebel without a clue. No," Sidney continues, "my life was already crap before I ever crossed paths with him or any of the other bullies in high school. Randy and Paula were among the few bright spots in my life, and this was my final way of thanking them."

"Actually," says Randy, "I'd say that because Miles-my best friend, by the way-was an obnoxiously persistent asshole, and the son of a strong-willed man who never gave up under terrible odds," he continues, "that he managed to somehow build a family of passionate, driven, and flawed human beings: of which the latest scion is you, Dashiell Miles Baxter."

Dash stares at Randy.

"How to carry on the legacy of a Bataan death march survivor, Miles, and your father, Andrew the accountant," continues Randy with a grin, "is up to you."

"That's all very delectable grist for the _**Oprah Winfrey Show**_," says Dash sardonically, "but now we need to shut down Carlisle, because he's trying to kill us."

"Carlisle..." seethes Randy.

"Indeed," says Carlisle, stepping out of the shadows as he applauds mockingly. 

* * *

"Why are you here?" asks Danny.

"How do you keep getting in here?" demands Sidney. "You were specifically _disinvited_ when I threw the party," he adds, scowling, "and you certainly weren't invited here by these kids."

"In the latter case, it's mostly because having a stringy, creepy old man lurking in the shadows of a teen costume party is just wrong somehow," adds Paulina.

Star stirs and wakes up, noting Carlisle, Randy, and Sidney. "It's...not a dream..." she mutters.

"Don't faint again, girl," says Valerie, grinning at Star.

"I can't allow the lot of you to destroy my life because I showed one cunt what it was like to be with a real man on prom night fifty years ago," Carlisle sneers. "The little slut moved on, and so have I." 

"Did the city councilman just call our second-grade schoolteacher those names...?" wonders Paulina, staring at Carlisle in disbelief.

"Why not?" asks Carlisle. "The shoe fits, after all. I wasn't even her first. Go on," he continues crudely. "Tell them, Petersen: tell them what a good, cheap fuck Paula was."

Randy's eyes and body glow as he burns with rage. "I'll do what I _should_ have done fifty years ago," he says quietly. "I'll simply kill this bastard and be done with it."

"Let me field this, Petersen," says Dash. "Don't waste another minute of your afterlife on this guy."

"What exactly are you going to do, young man," scoffs Carlisle, "assault a city councilman?"

Dash shakes his head. "Don't get me wrong, old man," he says, "you were moaning like a two-cent porn star for my knuckle sandwiches before my dad was born: talking shit about Ms. Schumacher; but I'd rather break down why you suck, Julian Carlisle."

"I...I beg your pardon?" Carlisle sputters.

"One: do you really think we believe Ms. Schumacher considered _you_ a real man after experiencing 'Mr. Perfect' over here?" asks Dash, jerking his head towards a still-glowering Randy, held in check by Sidney and Dani. "Fuck, I'll just stop right there," he snickers.

"Let me continue," sneers Star. "You had a failed combover ever since you were fourteen, and my grandma told me once that she got her three-hundred pound maid Gertrude to impersonate her when you blackmailed her into a date...and you didn't notice."

"The thought of _you_ in the shadows is creepier to me than the two ghosts," says Paulina.

"And if you hadn't tried to kill us 'meddling kids'," scoffs Danny, "you really would have gotten away scot-free."

"Except for when Randy rearranged your face," quips Dani.

"Which, given the original and what you have going now," says Dash, "was an improvement."

"You...you brats have no right to insult me!" spits Carlisle.

"Dude," says Kwan, "you _are_ an insult."

Carlisle snorts. "I've already called the authorities regarding your break-in to this abandoned building," he says, collecting himself.

"What break-in?" asks Sam.

"We have a key," adds Tucker, holding the key to Sidney's house.

"You're the only shriveled-up piece of shit who's in here illegally," says Valerie.

"It's your inconsequential words versus mine, children," counters Carlisle. "All I have to state is that you stole the key."

"And how would that be possible, Councilman?" says Ms. Schumacher, entering Sidney's house with Miles. "I gave Tucker the key when Dash told me about this costume party."

"Mr. Carlisle said a lot of bad words about you," says Paulina in a childlike voice.

"I can imagine," says Ms. Schumacher. "But you know that old saying..."

"'Sticks and stones will break my bones,'" say the teens in unison, "'but words will never hurt me'."

"And I don't feel we should waste any more words on you, Julie," says Miles, punching Carlisle in the face and knocking him out in one hit.

Ms. Schumacher sighs, shaking her head at Miles.

"Ah," says Miles, gently rubbing his knuckles, "my fist is finally satisfied. That, Randall," he quips to Randy, "is how you deal with the likes of Carlisle. But I know from experience," he adds with an understanding smile, "that you don't do a half-assed job of anything-especially when it's about Paula."

Ms. Schumacher winces down at the inert Carlisle, a mixture of outrage and hurt on her face, then looks at Randy.

"Is...it over...?" whispers Randy.

Dani tugs on Randy's sleeve. "It is if you want it to be, champ," she grins.

The group exits Sidney's house; Sidney floats away, a sad smile on his face, as he returns to the Ghost Zone. 

* * *

Danny, Jazz, and Dani enjoy fruit smoothies while atop the roof of Fenton Works.

"He'll be out in a month," says Danny blandly.

Dani gives Danny a quizzical look. "Carlisle?" she asks.

"Of course not," snorts Danny. "Vlad. Carlisle won't survive a month in prison."

"Because 'Bubba' will get him?" asks Dani. "Because it would serve him right."

"Nope," says Danny, "because Vlad will eviscerate Carlisle with impunity for the latter's utter incompetence."

"But what about Carlisle's executors?" asks Jazz.

"Vlad undercut that threat to his wealth and power by turning himself in for his theft and making restitution to the companies he stole from," says Danny, "after he bribed the executors."

"In other words," say Jazz and Dani in unison, "Vlad wins."

"But why even bother to go to prison?" wonders Dani.

"Vlad told me," says Danny, "that he wanted to start off our renewed rivalry with a clean slate, untainted by compromise."

"Weird," says Dani, shaking her head as she leaves the roof.

"Yep," adds Jazz, following Dani out. "Your dad's one seriously crazed-up fruit loop."

Danny shakes his head, smiling.

"In a way," says Randy, "he's like a cool uncle you never realized you had."

"Yeah," says Danny, "an evil uncle who wants to fuck my mom."

"Right," snorts Randy. "While your dad and your biological little half-sister clone want to screw each other."

Danny shrugs. "Hey," he says. "My dad didn't sire her; Vlad did-with my mom's hair. With all the weird shit I've endured since I started being the Phantom," he continues, "who am I to judge?"

"I suppose your mom figures that there's just too much of your old man to be sated by one woman," says Randy, rolling his eyes.

"I wouldn't go that far," scoffs Danny. "She's going to set some ground rules if Dad ever lets it come to that."

"Naturally," says Randy. "Your mom knows she has the goods."

Danny chuckles; Randy follows suit.

A red-haired girl in glasses hits Randy in the back of the head with a ruler. "You're being uncouth, Randy," she says.

Randy rubs the back of his head. "Sorry, Paula," he says, grinning.

"And Daniel," Paula admonishes with a frown, "I thought you had better manners and upbringing than that. To suggest such shocking things."

"Ms. Schumacher," says Danny, "I'm almost sixteen, and my upbringing occurs in a place," he continues, picking up Pinky and feeding him peanut butter from a celery stick, "where a lab mouse can get superpowers."

Paula sighs. "I apologize for being a stick in the mud," she says. "Our times are simply different."

"I think," says Danny, "that we're all just trying to turn the whole world into the Garden of Eden: a place where we can be naked, and not ashamed of ourselves."

Randy stifles a boyish smile, unable to hide a slightly lewd twinkle in his eyes.

Paula touches her chin a moment. "That's very thoughtful," she says, smiling. "Now, I'll go with Randy whereever he wants," she continues with a wry grin at Randy, "but he'll have to quit thinking of me naked and covered in mud."

"The woman has eyes inside my brain, Danny," says Randy, drawing Paula to his side. "I was a fool to ever let her go."

"Yeah," says Danny. "I guess my job is to make sure," he continues as he looks down at Sam arguing with Dash; a wistful smile on his face, "that certain mistakes never repeat themselves."

"Will you be alright?" asks Paula.

"You two take care of yourselves," says Danny, turning invisible. "Sam's part of my family," he continues, "and my job is to make her happy." Danny dives down, briefly overshadows Dash, pulls Sam into a kiss, then phases out of Dash; watching the pair continue kissing as he makes himself visible.

Randy and Paula smile down on the three teenagers. "Paula," he says, "I think those meddling kids of yours are all right."

The pair of ghost teenagers fade away.

**THE END**


End file.
